19
September 9th, 1737
That night, Anna had barely fallen asleep when she was woken by a woman’s cry. The cries grew louder and louder. Then someone shook her shoulder.
“Anna, it’s Peter. Lizzie needs you. It’s her time.”
Anna bolted from her hammock and hurried over to Lizzie’s pallet. “Oh Anna . . . help me.”
Anna watched a moment and then laid her hand on Lizzie’s abdomen. “Perhaps they’re just false spasms in your belly.” Oh God, please let it be false spasms.
“No. This is different.” Lizzie squeezed Anna’s hands, hard. “You’ve got to help me.” She let out a scream that echoed through the lower deck, waking everyone.
Maria lit a lantern and came to the pallet. “Perhaps it is a stomach worm, like my Catrina had. I’ll get some ginger slices.”
“No, Maria, she doesn’t need ginger. She is going to give birth.”
Maria looked at Anna with doubt and displeasure. “It’s much too soon for that. Impossible!”
Anna watched Lizzie a few moments more. Contractions were coming every few minutes. “Very possible. And soon.”
“Impossible,” Maria said again, a little less confidently this time.
Annie helped Lizzie to her feet and they walked around the lower deck for the next hour. Her contractions were sharp and irregular, her breathing harsh. She ran with sweat and finally couldn’t walk any longer, practically collapsing onto her pallet. She let out a bellow like an ailing cow. Peter was perched on the chest next to the pallet, looking as if he was experiencing labor pains along with his young wife.
“She’ll need privacy,” Anna said. “Can someone find a place for Lizzie?”
Christian rose to his feet. “I’ll find a spot.” He dragged the scarred wooden table that had served as the school for Anna’s English lessons into the bow of the ship. Then he returned and motioned to Peter to help Lizzie up. One hand to her round tummy, she pushed herself to her feet and staggered toward the table. Maria crouched down and put a red ribbon around Lizzie’s small wrist. “This will help draw off the pains.” She turned to Anna. “I’ll make up a potion.”
Anna had to bite her lip to not snap at Maria about her odd Braucher beliefs. Some were harmless, silly superstitions, but some were dangerous. It amazed her that Christian tolerated his wife’s practices.
Anna tried to remember what herbs her grandmother had in the garden. If only she’d paid more attention to her grandmother! Never had she felt so far from home. She remembered the herbs her grandmother used for the birthing process: birthwort for inducing contractions, lady’s mantle to stop bleeding, wormwood to relieve pain, raspberry leaf to speed the last part of labor, hops for their calming effect. Of course, there were none of those herbs tucked in her trunk because her grandmother hadn’t expected someone to give birth.
Maria hustled and bustled around her. She knew about chants and potions but surprisingly little about babies being born, and all her hustle and bustle did nothing to help. From all corners of the lower deck, women descended on Lizzie like a gaggle of geese, asking questions and offering suggestions, a sea of worried faces. Lizzie was struggling to sit up and was pushing so hard her red face looked near to bursting.
Anna looked to Christian. “Would you and Peter create a screen of some sort? To give her some privacy?”
Christian gathered sheets and hung them to provide some semblance of privacy. Lizzie’s pale hair was spread out on the pillow like a silvery-gold cloud, and terror filled her wide brown eyes. She cried out, calling for her mother. Her pains seemed extraordinarily fierce, or else she was uncommonly poor at managing.
Anna sponged the girl’s face with cool water. “You’ll forget the pain once you hold your babe in your arms.”
Peter came in and went out, returned and went out, unable to help but reluctant to leave.
After two hours, during which the spasms of labor grew closer and closer together, Lizzie wept and protested and declared again and again that she couldn’t go through with the birth.
“It’ll all be over with soon,” Anna said in her most soothing voice. “Only a little while longer.” But even as she said it, she shivered and prayed some more.
Finally, Anna looked at Peter. “Go upstairs to get hot water and clean cloths.”
“But how—how do I do that?” His lower lip protruded as though he were about to cry.
“You go ask Cook.”
“I don’t know who Cook is.”
“Someone will show you. Now go.” The boy departed like she’d kicked him in the back of his breeches.
Moments later, Peter returned. “The man in the galley told me the galley fires have been doused for the night.”
“Then ask Cook to light them again. Oh, never mind.” Anna looked around for Felix and didn’t see him, so she left Maria in charge of Lizzie, and Barbara in charge of Maria, and went up to the main deck to speak to Cook. She could use a little fresh air.
Upstairs, she felt disoriented. The sun was setting—the day had passed and it would soon be night again. And the baby hadn’t come. Soon, she hoped. Soon.
She saw the lantern glow from the galley and went inside. But it wasn’t Cook inside, it was Georg Schultz. He sat on a barrel, drinking from Cook’s private stash of the captain’s whiskey. He looked up at her, bewhiskered and bleary and red-eyed, and pushed to his feet, coming to stand quite close to her. She hovered on the coaming. She must have hot water for the babe. She must.
Go, came a whisper of warning. As she thought it, Georg Schultz surprised her with his quickness, pulling her forward and shutting the door behind her.
“It’s taken me awhile but I finally put it all together. The boy. The thief is the boy. Hans Felix Bauer. Son of Jacob Bauer.”
She stepped back, moving out of reach of his touch. “Why do you say that?”
“I heard the minister’s wife, Maria, call him by his full name. It was the day the rain came.” He moved toward her. “Suddenly, it was so obvious. Of course, of course. The little redheaded brat.”
She backed up a step, then another. “You said you wanted a watch. I’m searching for it.”
“Not yet.”
“The watch is incidental, though it would be nice to be able to return it to the baron. Far better to return with the boy. More than double the reward.”
A panic gripped her chest so tightly that she thought her heart might stop beating. “No. No!”
“The Baron of Ixheim has rancor with Jacob Bauer. He holds Jacob Bauer responsible for the death of his sons.”
“The only thing Jacob Bauer did was to tell the truth. He saw the baron’s sons kill that man.”
“That’s not the way the baron views the situation. He believes that justice is due him.”
Understanding dawned on Anna. “So if he can’t have Jacob Bauer, he wants his sons.” She shivered. “He took Johann and he won’t be satisfied until he has one more.”
His smile was cold. “You are a clever girl.”
“Felix is just a boy. A child.” She stood like a statue, frozen to the spot. “I’ll tell the captain. He would never let you take a boy away from his family.”
His throat clenched around a harsh laugh. “So naïve, little Anna. The captain would never dare go against the baron’s orders. Not with so many more Germans wanting passage to America.”
“I will find the watch so you can get the reward. But leave Felix alone.”
“I think we can make an arrangement that would suffice.” His eyes were on fire with an unholy delight. “You know what I want from you.”
Oh, she knew what he wanted. She saw him for what he was—a poisonous man in dire need of God’s grace, and having none of it.
She spun around to leave when he grabbed her arm, his fingers biting deep, hauling her roughly up against him.
The sea was so calm that Bairn decided it was a good night to sharpen tools in his shop. Less chance of injury when the waters were quiet. He looked up to see Felix standing by the door, his eyes alive with panic.
“Anna! She’s . . .”
Anna? Tension rose in him at the mere mention of her name. “What is it?”
“Georg Schultz. Galley.” He pummeled his fists in the air. “He hurts her!”
Bairn cleared the deck in long strides, the alarm in Felix’s tone raking his every nerve. He was barely aware of the boy on his boot heels.
The galley was so narrow that Georg Schultz had Anna cornered. He leaned nose-to-nose with her.
Her stomach soured at the reeking smell of his putrid breath. “Please. Let me go.”
He laughed, exposing yellow teeth. “Come on, dear,” he urged in an oily, smooth voice. “I just want a taste of you. You’re a very pretty woman. Let me see you.” He pulled off her prayer covering, scattering its pins, and his hand was in her hair. “Let me touch you.” His grip on her waist relaxed, but then his hand moved up her side. At his touch she felt soiled, nearly nauseous.
She tried to fight down the terror that was rising within her. Her chest had locked tight and her breathing was shallow. She tried to stay calm, to keep her wits about her, as his hand started to grope her and she pushed him away. “Stop!”
“Feisty little wench, aren’t you?”
“Get your hands off me.”
He drew back, watching her, brows raised, his voice nearly growling. “Am I so repugnant to you?”
She stood her ground, unflinching. “Yes.”
Georg Schultz jerked back, stunned by her audacity. “Why you . . .” He reeled back his hand and struck her cheek. He raised his hand to hit her again and she screamed, so he pinned her against the wall with his other hand. He leaned toward her to press his mouth against hers, when suddenly the door almost flew off its hinges and in came Bairn. He pulled Georg Schultz off Anna and tossed him against the wall. Schultz sank to the floor like a bag of potatoes.
Bairn’s big hands clenched and unclenched rhythmically, his powerful chest shook. “If you dare lay a hand on her again, I’ll cast you overboard. Don’t think I won’t.”
Georg Schultz’s breathing was strident, his beard bristling, as he pulled himself to his feet. He scrubbed at his mouth with his coat sleeve.
“The captain will be outraged when he hears of this. You’ll be done totin’ passengers across the ocean.”
He thrust his finger at Bairn. “The captain won’t hear a word. Don’t forget what I know about you, Bairn.”
“That has nothin’ to do with hurtin’ Anna.”
Georg Schultz lifted his head and faced Bairn squarely. “Why do you care? Unless you want her for yourself?”
Bairn raised his arm to hit the man, but Anna grabbed his arm. “Don’t! Violence violates the word of God. It will only turn you into him. Just make him go.”
Georg Schultz gave Bairn a hostile glare and pushed Felix aside as he staggered out the door. “I’m coming after you, boy.”
Felix jumped and paled, his eyes went wide with fear.
“Felix.” Anna held a hand out to him. He startled when she said his name, then came to her. She put an arm around him. Then she remembered Lizzie. “Water. I came up here for hot water for Lizzie. Her time is here.”
“Felix, go find Cook and tell him he’s needed in the galley,” Bairn said. “Tell him the orders come from me. Dinnae take nay for an answer.”
Chin not quite steady, Felix fled.
Bairn closed the door behind him and pulled a stool out for Anna to sit down. He picked up her hair covering and her pins, then his eyes held hers for a moment. She couldn’t stop shaking.
“Anna, sit . . .”
Instead of sitting, she wilted against Bairn, sliding her arms around him, her face nestled against the curve of his neck.
His arms closed around her, crinkling her prayer cap. “You’re safe now.”
He helped her to sit on a barrel top, examined her face, dipped a cloth in cool water, and pressed it against her bruised cheek. He never spoke, but there was nothing but kindness in his eyes as he tenderly put that cloth against her cheek where it was bleeding. “Does it hurt?”
“No.” She drew back a bit. “He frightened me, but little else.”
He leaned nearer, his calloused fingers grazing her cheek. Apprehension and anger were etched around his eyes. “I’ll see t’it he doesn’t touch you again,” he whispered. “I promise you will always be safe with me.”
She nodded. She knew that what he said was true. Somehow she had always known it. She had always felt safe with him. For a few seconds she was struck with the power of his presence, the unspoken feelings between them. She twisted her hair into a knot, pinned it in place along with the prayer covering. His eyes watched every move she made, almost reverently.
“Bairn, Georg Schultz says Felix is the one who stole the watch.”
“But . . . Felix would never do such a thing.” Less confidently, he added, “Or would he?”
“It’s very possible. Felix blamed the Baron of Ixheim for his brother’s death.”
Bairn jerked his head up. “Ixheim?”
“Yes. That’s the name of our village.” She flicked her dangling capstrings behind her. “Georg Schultz plans to take Felix back with him, with or without the watch.” He had the strangest look on his face, as if he had seen a ghost. “Bairn, did you hear me?”
“Hmm?”
“Georg Schultz says he is going to take Felix back to face the baron, with or without the watch.”
“Aye, I heard you.” He was peering at her so intently that she felt pinned in place. “Anna, tell me about that rose.”
“My rose? The one in my basket?”
“Aye. The one you gave water to durin’ the drought instead of drinkin’ it yerself.”
Felix must have seen her and told him. “The rose was given to me by a boy I once knew. I’d fallen in the hills and broken my leg. He knew I loved roses, so he dug up the rose and left it for me.”
“Left it?”
“He went to the New World with his father.”
At that, Bairn shuddered, then quickly turned from her. He went to Cook’s small window and gazed out at the sea. “Why . . .” He stopped, cleared his throat, started again. “Why does the rose matter so much t’you?”
Watching him, listening to his curiosity about a garden flower, made her wonder about the life he’d lived, the comforts he hadn’t had. She wondered what was going through his mind as he stared out the small window. Whatever it was, she’d probably never know. “We were just children . . . but there was something special I felt for him.”
Without turning around, he said, “And he for you?”
“I don’t know. I was younger than he was. He hardly noticed me.” The ship rose on a swell, hung there, settled into a trough, then rose again.
He turned back to face her with a look in his eyes that was so tender, so loving, her feelings for him came close to surfacing and she struggled to tamp them down. “Anna,” he said, his voice low and husky, “I doot the laddie would have left you the rose had he not noticed you.”
A sailor’s shout floated in the air and suddenly she remembered why she had come to the galley in the first place. “Lizzie! The baby is on its way and she’s having a dreadful time of it.” She looked up at him hopefully. “You’re the ship’s surgeon. Surely you must know something about delivering a baby.”
He shook his head. “I’ve seen plenty of pox and scurvy, but I ken naught about how t’prevent it. The older women ken more than I about birthin’ babies.”
She scanned the open cupboards of the galley. “Has Cook any hartshorn or chamomile?”
“Nay. China tea with opium drops.”
“She may need that after the child is delivered.” She heard the stroke of the ship’s bells. Had it only been a short time since she’d come up on deck? It felt like hours.
He helped her to stand. “I’ll have the hot water brought down to you.”
“Bairn, I don’t know what to do. I’ve never delivered a baby.”
“You said you raised sheep. I’m sure you’ve seen plenty of lambs come into this world. Could it be all that different?”
She looked up. “Maybe. But I don’t know. Bairn, I’m so frightened. About Lizzie. About Felix.”
His Adam’s apple slid up, then down. For a moment he didn’t say anything. He turned, then looked away and quietly said, “Let me do the worryin’ about the laddie.”
A kindness, but Felix wasn’t his problem. Still, she could only handle one crisis at a time and Lizzie was her chief concern right now. “I don’t remember a baby taking so long to get born. What if something goes wrong?”
He took a deep breath, fixing his attention on the top of her head. Her prayer cap. “Where is that strong faith of yers?”
She sighed. “Faith.” At that moment her convictions fell away. “I don’t know.”
For a moment, he closed his arms around her, held her close, his lips at her ear, his breath fanning her cheek. “Well, I have faith in you.”
He led her to the companionway and left her there.
But his warmth remained, spilling through her, easing her fear. Momentarily, her hands balled into fists before she managed to relax them. She could do this. She must.
September 10th, 1737
It was after midnight. In his carpenter’s shop, Bairn launched his frock coat and hat onto one of the brass hooks he’d screwed to the wall, then stalked to the workbench and slammed his palms onto the bench. Barrel staves rattled, stacked on floor-to-ceiling shelves he’d built on a better day.
And all that time he nursed a growing rage for Georg Schultz. The anger that flooded through Bairn turned the world red as hot, hot fire. Just the memory of Anna, pale-faced and trembling, so wounded and yet so brave, made him want to strike Schultz. He abhorred violence, always had. Yet violence was impossible to avoid—among men or among nature. The fury of a stormy sea, the brutality of the wind, the cruelty of some individuals. Even the act of giving birth, he realized, was a violent business in itself.
He thought of Anna and the suffering girl in the lower decks, and wondered how they were faring. He felt a strange surge of something unfamiliar—a sense of caring for someone, of protection. Something deep, long buried. He remained in his shop until the soft purple time before dawn, musing, until he realized that his hardened heart was betraying him. It had begun to shift—coming together like the individual wooden staves of a barrel, bits and pieces being moved around by an invisible hand to start to fall into place, to form a completely functional piece. A future he thought was forever lost to him was now right in front of him. Close but out of reach.
He loved Anna, yet he could never have her. Never should have her.
The knowledge that Bairn had faith in Anna had an extraordinary effect. All the tension and anxiety left her, and she felt calm and confident. Anna set about doctoring Lizzie with calm efficiency. She did every single thing she had seen her grandmother do and even invented some of her own, but dawn came and still the baby did not come.
Anna was so tired she could scarcely think. She tried to remember anything more she could do, but her brain wouldn’t work. Barbara Gerber worried the baby was breech, Esther Wenger suggested Lizzie should sit on a birthing stool—of which they had none—and Maria recommended she climb stairs.
Lizzie snapped at them and told them to leave her be. She only wanted Anna. Minutes passed, hours, and Anna stayed by her side, cooling Lizzie’s pale face with a wet cloth.
Then, as suddenly as it had started, it was all over. Lizzie gave a terrible cry, and a massive push, and a baby emerged, wrinkled and slimy, with a great gush of liquid behind it. Lizzie fell back exhausted.
Anna had very little experience caring for a baby, but Bairn was right—she had been present at the birth of many lambs. Her instincts told her what to do next: she checked the baby to remove the cord from around its neck and wiped any membrane from across its face, then turned it slightly downward so mucus drained from it.
She tore a coarse thread from the hem of her dress, tied the baby’s cord, cut it with a small knife brought down from the galley. Having no cumin to seal the cord, she spat on her hand and rubbed the cut end. She wrapped the baby in clean linen and marveled at the sight: A tiny, perfect infant, a boy, with the blond hair of his father and the pale face of his mother. He looked like a tiny doll. His arms and legs were small, yet a miniscule nail completed each finger. He was red and wrinkled and heart-achingly beautiful.
At the sound of the baby’s mewl-like cry, Maria pulled up the sheet flap and hurried behind Peter to see the ship’s newest passenger.
“Here, Peter.” Anna handed the baby to his father “No stomach worm,” she gave Maria a glance with a lifted eyebrow, “but a boy.”
Then Anna turned her attention to Lizzie and felt a spike of concern. Lizzie’s breathing was rapid and her temperature high. She put a hand in the hollow of Lizzie’s chest and felt her heartbeat, faint and irregular, but it was there.
“Lizzie needs to be cleaned up and kept warm,” Anna said, trying to keep her voice steady. “She should have something hot to drink. Maria, hot water and honey would do nicely.”
Lizzie’s eyes flickered, and opened a little. “Baby. My baby. Where is my baby?”
Peter held the baby in one hand so that the child lay within Lizzie’s gaze. You could see the struggle and the effort it cost her to lift her head, and with a sharp intake of breath she put out a shaking hand to touch the infant. She smiled a beatific smile, murmured, “My baby. My darling baby,” her hand resting on Peter’s hand and the baby.
That was when Anna noticed there was blood everywhere. She wiped it up, but it kept coming. In the flickering lantern light, it looked dark as pitch on the white rags. The bleeding wouldn’t stop and Anna was starting to panic. She asked Maria for more fresh linens and wondered what kind of herbal remedy she could concoct from ingredients to help slow the bleeding.
Lizzie closed her eyes as if to rest. Then she fell quiet. Too quiet.
“Lizzie?” Peter asked. He shook her gently, trying to waken her.
Anna leaned down to listen for Lizzie’s breathing. She didn’t hear anything. She reached for her pulse and felt nothing. Slowly, she straightened and gave a slight shake of her head. “She’s gone.”