17
August 27th, 1737
One day had slipped by, then two, with not a cloud in the sky. Three days after the meeting of the slave ship, Christian had announced another cut in water rations for the passengers. They had already been rationed to four pints per day per person. Then it was two pints per day. Then one.
Four days later, the passengers finished the last of their casked water. Truly out. And not a cloud floated in the sky. After Christian finished morning devotions, the passengers drifted back to their sleeping areas. Most everyone lay on their hammocks or pallets or bunks, doing only what was necessary, tired and irritable. No one was fit to keep company with a grizzly bear.
Anna sought out Christian as he put his Bible back in his chest. “Did we make a mistake?”
“No,” Christian said. His big and gentle heart could have done nothing else but share water with the slaves. “God often uses the practical to lead to the spiritual. Scripture is full of such examples.”
A few hours later, a shriek of happiness startled everyone. “I found another barrel of water!” Felix shouted from the center of the lower deck. He pointed to the barrel that held up the screw jack, grinning and nodding.
Indeed, it was a barrel and it seemed to be filled with liquid. The passengers gathered, laughing and clapping Felix on the back. Here they had been living amongst this barrel for weeks now and never gave it another thought. Right under their noses was the very thing they needed to survive. Anna grinned with happiness, trying not to feel smug. A fine example of the practical leading to the spiritual!
Christian worked his way through the group that surrounded the barrel. He seemed uncertain as he examined the screw jack. “Anna, go ask Bairn about this. We cannot jeopardize the safety of the ship.”
Anna hurried upstairs and found Bairn in his carpenter’s shop. After she explained what they wanted to do, he followed her below decks, ducking under the low beamed ceiling so he didn’t hit his head. He went straight to the barrel, examining it. “Aye, ’tis water from Plymouth.” He pointed out the water marking on the barrel.
Felix watched, fascinated, as Bairn checked the screw jack, the timber, and the barrel.
He knocked the top of it and heard a hollow sound.
“It’s empty,” Anna said, puzzled.
“Nay. Some of the liquid evaporates from a barrel. The headspace is called the ullage.” He knocked the center of it and it sounded entirely different. “The bulging middle portion of the barrel is called the bilge. In the middle of the bilge is a hole in the barrel called the bung hole, which is corked with a bung.” He walked around the other side of the barrel. “There. The bung.”
“If we use the water, will it weaken the timber?”
“Perhaps if it were completely emptied, it could, but I think a few bucketfuls wouldn’t hurt.” He looked around. “Felix, go fetch me a bucket or pitcher. Even a cup.”
Felix disappeared into the crowd and returned with a tin cup. Bairn used the claw of his hammer to pull out the bung. Water poured out of the hole. Sweet, blessed relief!
But not to Bairn. He jammed the bung back into the hole to stop the flow of water. He sniffed the water, then tasted it and spit it out. “’Tis brackish.” He gave the cup to Anna with a trace of apology in his eyes. She sniffed it and passed it to Christian. It smelled foul.
“It would make you deathly ill to drink that.” Bairn rose to his feet. “I’m sorry. I truly am.” And he was. “Anna, come with me to the upper deck.”
They walked side by side down the lower deck and up the companionway, and although Anna felt the stares of other passengers, she didn’t care.
At the top of the stairwell, Bairn turned to her. “Anna, let me help. I’ll give you water. Or beer. The captain didn’t say anything about sharin’ beer.”
“No. Thank you, but no. You will need that water yourself. And we don’t drink beer.” She tried to swallow through the dryness in her throat. “It will rain soon. I’m sure of it.” She was so sure of it. She was sure God was going to do this for them, but the situation was getting worse. And worse.
He wiped the sweat off the back of his neck and said, “Anna, yer the ones who have put God to this foolish test.”
“It wasn’t a test. We gave up our water because we are trusting in the mercy of the Lord to take care of us.”
“And does He? Is your good Lord taking care of you?”
He wasn’t mocking her, she could see in his eyes that he simply couldn’t fathom why they did what they did. It was a question only an outsider would ask. Anyone from their church was born knowing the answer. “Bairn, our story is not meant to be read by itself. Think of the slaves. At least they have a chance to live now. They have a story of their own.”
“Mayhap you put an expectation on the Almighty that He has no plans ta meet. What will you do when all hope is gone?”
“Broken expectations aren’t meant to crush our hopes, but to free us to put our confidence in God alone. They aren’t meant to make us give up, but look up.”
He had a puzzled look in his eyes, etched with a type of hunger.
As she thought of what to say to make him understand, he reached out and cupped her cheek with his hand, gazing at her so tenderly, it hurt to look at him. In a voice that was deep and roughened with feelings, he said, “All you need to do is to ask, just say the word, and I will give you me water.” His gaze broke from hers and he turned to leave her then.
She stayed at the top of the stairs, watching him stride down the deck toward his shop, his boots rapping across the deck planks. She found her growing appreciation for him blurred by confusion.
She had come to admire his tenderness and strength. His kindness too. But he didn’t understand; he’d had such trouble understanding her and her faith. He told her that all she needed to do was to say the word and he would give her his water. But she could never, ever ask.
That evening in the lower deck, nobody spoke. Nobody said a word. There was nothing to say.
Christian warned everyone not to ask the sailors for water, but he didn’t say anything about paying the sailors for water. Felix had discovered that casked water fetched two shillings a pint; Cook’s leftover water, gray from cooking, could be had for ninepence a quart. It worked for a few days. But then he ran out of money.
He dropped down on his knees to keep out of sight as he worked his way around the ship. In a corner, he saw a sailor slumped over a basket of oakum, snoring.
Queenie was peering down at him from the forecastle. The cat waved her tail back and forth. Felix glared at her. “Jump on me now, cat, and I’ll lock you in the hold all day.” The cat meowed as if she knew he was bluffing.
He noticed another seaman dip a tin cup into a cask of water and gulp it down, watched drips of precious water drain off his whiskers, trickle down his cheeks. Felix licked his dry lips. The seaman tossed the cup on the deck and Felix thought about scooting over to pick up the cup and lick the insides. He was that thirsty.
A hand reached out and doffed his hat off his head. “You sure do keep turning up where you don’t belong, don’t you, boy?”
It was the first mate with the jowly cheeks, Mr. Pocock.
Felix’s arms went up to protect his head in case Mr. Pocock tried to box his ears the way Squinty-Eye did, but the first mate was already turning away. “Get on down below.”
Felix snatched his hat from the ground and jammed it on his head, wondering how serious the first mate was about him going below. As if the ghastly cat knew what he was thinking, her hackles grew high and she started to snarl. She was making ready to pounce on him and claw his eyes out. Felix never trusted cats; they did that kind of thing. He scurried across the deck to head down the companionway. About halfway down the stairs was Catrina, sitting on a step. She patted the place next to her so that Felix would join her.
Catrina was being too nice, so Felix should have known that something bad was about to happen. Then he noticed a flask tucked by her side.
“Want some?”
Felix grabbed the flask and gulped down a mouthful of what he thought was warm water, but it was dark and bitter tasting. He coughed and coughed, then gagged.
A bell went off in his head. He recognized that particular flask. It belonged to the droopy-eyed first mate, Mr. Pocock. He handed the flask back to Catrina. She had stopped being friendly and looked straight at him, except for that turned in eye, and snapped, “Don’t even think about telling. You drank from it too.”
She had him. He couldn’t tell on her, or else he’d be in as much trouble as she would. So he took another sip. Then another. Soon, he grew sleepy and went to bed without supper, worrying his mother.
In the middle of the night, Catrina complained about her aching stomach. She meowed and howled and turned in her hammock, clinging to her side.
Someone yelled out, “Quit it, Catrina. I can’t sleep.” But if Catrina couldn’t sleep, then nobody could sleep, so too bad for her and too bad for everyone else. Maria just let Catrina carry on caterwauling while she rubbed her stomach.
Felix didn’t sleep well either. He felt like someone had pulled all his teeth out with a pair of rusty pliers.
By morning, Catrina was in bad shape. She lay on her mother’s sleeping shelf, pale and quiet. Anna cut up some tack for her, and added a little salted cabbage, which she knew Catrina was fond of. She left the plate by her shelf with a towel across it and went to get some chores done.
“Felix,” Anna whispered, “would you read to Catrina or tell her a story? I want to take Maria upstairs for a moment to get some fresh air.” She gazed over at the two of them, a worried look on her face. Maria was cradling Catrina in her arms, bone-white and frightened. She was stroking her daughter’s hair, and murmuring to her, neither of which the sick child seemed to feel or hear. Christian was crouched beside the sleeping shelf, the Bible in his lap. “The suffering on her parents’ faces is enough to break your heart.”
It scared Felix to see Catrina just lying on her bed, saying nothing. It was embarrassing but tears just exploded out of his face. “I hate her but I don’t want her to die.”
Anna wrapped her arms around him. “Then pray for her to get well. And be a good friend to her right now.”
They walked over to Catrina and Anna put her hand on Maria’s shoulder. “Come with me. We’ll go upstairs for a bit of fresh air.”
“I can’t leave her.”
“Just for a few minutes. Felix volunteered to stay with her.”
Christian rose to his feet. “I’ll go with you.” He put a big hand on Felix’s head. “Thank you, son.” They walked side by side down the middle of the lower deck, around the barrel that held the screw jack, and climbed the stairs to the ship’s upper deck. To Felix, Maria and Christian seemed suddenly so very old. Overnight, they had turned into old people.
Like his mother had.
Felix dropped his head, shamed. Now he understood the power of sorrowing and grief.
He kneeled down beside Catrina and listened for her shallow breathing. Be a good friend, Anna had said. “Catrina, I’m going to give you some solid-gold advice. For free, even though you got me whiskified yesterday.”
Catrina mumbled something he couldn’t understand.
“When you talk to people, you squinch your lazy eye kind of shut or you put your hand on your face to cover it. If you don’t want people to look at your eye, you just do this.”
One eye opened. Then another. She watched him suspiciously.
“Keep your head straight and look at me sideways.”
She did it.
“See? You aren’t cockeyed anymore. Your eye is straight as an arrow now.”
Throughout the day, Catrina didn’t get better but she didn’t get worse. And Felix noticed she was watching people sideways.
August 30th, 1737
Two days without any water. Then three.
Anna’s hands were raw and cracked open, her mouth dry like cotton, her lips peeling, her belly sour. The salted meat they ate only made it worse. She yearned for cool water to soothe her parched throat, a warm bath, clothes not stiff with salt.
Doubts plagued her. Had they made a terrible mistake? Had she misunderstood God’s leading? Yet she couldn’t stop thinking of those tragic souls in the slave ship. She felt embarrassed over how sheltered and blinded she had been to the terrible plight of the lost and forgotten. It was right to share the water.
And yet to die slowly by dehydration was also a terrible plight. Two Mennonite toddlers had already died of sickness, aggravated by dehydration.
Over and over, she sent up her request:
Lord, hear our prayer. We need rain like the Israelites needed manna.
She wondered if perhaps she had not been praying properly. Surely if she was doing it right, God would heed her. But God did not.
“Anna, come quick.”
She half-turned to see Felix waving to her from the bow of the ship where the animals were penned. He was in the pen with the goat and her kid, who was curled into a ball. Anna climbed into the pen and crouched beside the kid, talking to it, her voice soft and low. Poor baby was not more than a few weeks into this hard world. She picked its little head up and laid it in her lap, coddling the kid as if it were a child. The kid moaned: a pitiful, suffering noise. “Don’t you go giving up now. They’re going to need you in the New World. You’ll have green grass and a still pond. All the grass you want to eat. All the water you need.” She saw the kid’s eyes sink, its body went quiet, and she knew it was dead.
As Anna sat next to the dead kid, right there in the animal pen, she pulled up her knees and cried.
Except she had no tears.
She wrapped the little kid in an old sheet and waited until dark to take it upstairs to send over the railing for burial. When she turned around from the railing, she found Bairn standing stock-still in front of her, a cold look in his eyes. “Where is yer God now, Anna?”
“God wouldn’t bring us here if He didn’t plan to sustain us. And to deliver us.”
“You’ve put all yer trust in a God who dinnae care whether yer thirsty or not.”
“You’re trusting God by relating it to circumstances. Trust is much more than circumstances. Much, much more.”
He took a step toward her. “The sky was red tonight. That means no rain on the horizon. Yer hopin’ for somethin’ that isn’t going to happen.”
“You don’t . . .” She drew in a deep breath, her chest shuddering. “You don’t understand about hope. About trust.” What could she say to make him understand? “Even when there’s not a spot of light in the east, you’re still sure the sun will rise.”
His eyes met hers and they were no longer cold. “Hope works like that for the sun, but other things aren’t as sure as the sunrise.”
She was helpless to argue given the dryness of her mouth. “Bairn, when I am most confused and unsure of the morrow, I remember something our bishop always quoted from the Bible: ‘Be still and know that I am God.’”
At that, a grimace twisted his features, as if she had said something that hurt him. He took another step forward, grabbed her hand, and thrust a flask in it. “Take this water and drink it down.” He swung around and walked off toward the forecastle.
Watching him, her heart felt as if it might burst. She looked down at his flask in her hands, touched beyond words by his unexpected tenderness. And to think she once thought that tall, fine man to be incapable of compassion and caring.
She looked up at the stars—so bright she felt she could reach out and touch them. She prayed, pleaded, begged for rain.
Then she went below deck, straight to Catrina, and made her take sips from Bairn’s flask of water. Catrina swallowed as much as she could and then shook her head.
Anna gazed around the deck—at Peter and Lizzie with her swollen belly, at Josef and Barbara and their twin toddlers, at Maria and Christian and their stair-step daughters, at Dorothea and Felix, at the others. They were so much a part of her, as much a part of her as her hands, her heart, her soul. She squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t bear to think of losing this little church, of losing any of them. Her throat felt so raw that her sigh hurt coming out. But it hurt even more to hold it in.
There were just a few teaspoons of water left in the bottom of the flask. Anna went to her rose, her withering, suffering rose, and thought of her grandmother’s words. “If the rose survives, our people survive.” She breathed, ran her tongue over her dry lips at the sight of those precious drops of water. And then she poured those few teaspoons into the dirt of her rose.
She dreaded the morrow.
Bairn lay awake in the heat of his room half the night. His only thought was of Anna. He hoped she had taken his flask and drank it for herself, but knowing her as he did, he was fairly confident she’d given it to someone in greater need. Such an infuriating female! He couldn’t find a way to help her and he could see the toll a lack of water was taking on her. Dark smudges colored the skin beneath her eyes, cracked lips, her voice barely rose above a whisper.
She had been so confident that the Almighty would provide. Even desperately thirsty, her eyes were shining and her face was glowing. She had no doubts. And in a strange way, he had hoped she would be right. But dash it all! She’d made him hope. Made him believe.
And look at where things were now. For the entire ship.
After Bairn had discovered the brackish water in the barrel in the lower decks, he had checked the other water barrels and found they had also turned brackish. He wondered if Mr. Pocock had actually supervised the filling of the barrels at Drake’s Leet, or if his gouty toe had sent him to off to a pub for some liquid pain relief.
Captain Stedman had begun emergency consultations in the Great Cabin with Mr. Pocock and Bairn and ordered the seamen to be put on severe water rationing. In the back of Bairn’s mind, he had thought he would be able to get water to the passengers before the situation turned desperate. Now it was desperate. He couldn’t help them, even if he disobeyed the captain. There simply was no water to spare. Sixty passengers were on the sick list, some wee ones had already died.
A cold tremor rocked him to his very bones.
Why had this happened? Why would the Almighty punish someone like Anna, whose only crime was that her heart was broken at the sight of the slave ship?
“Be still and know that I am God,” she had told him.
How many times had he heard those very words from his father?
I do know that You are God! That was the whole problem. The whole point! He was a God who wouldn’t speak and wouldn’t listen and wouldn’t act.
And certainly wouldn’t send rain when it was desperately needed.