Chapter 4

Anna

Hotel Ottawa
1897

I didn’t sleep well in the plain, unfamiliar hotel bed. My childhood nightmare returned after that terrible storm, and once again I dreamt that Mama and I were abandoning the sinking ship for the lifeboat. I heard the pitiful screams of drowning passengers and watched Mama sink beneath the waves. I’m awake now, and yet I still can’t stop shivering. Bright sunlight slants past the curtains, but I have no idea what time it is, nor do I care. I came to the Hotel Ottawa so I’d have time to think and to lick my wounds like an injured animal. I climb from the bed and rummage in my trunk for something to wear—I was too tired last evening to hang up my clothes properly, and they are strewn across the chair and floor. I change into a shirtwaist, a simple, loose-fitting skirt, and my traveling jacket, then brush my hair, leaving it unpinned. Why fuss when I no longer have a fiancé to impress or a calendar of social obligations to keep? I feel surprisingly liberated as I head outside.

I can tell it’s early because the grass still sparkles with last night’s rain, and the summer sun hasn’t had time to warm the storm-swept air. A few hearty guests are already walking toward the sandy beach on Lake Michigan, but I stay well away from that terrifying expanse of horizonless water. I find a place to sit on a bench facing the much smaller Black Lake and watch the water splash against the pilings. The City of Holland is no longer moored at the dock, and a family of ducks swims near the shore. They bob up and down on the waves like toys in a carnival game, dipping their heads into the water until their tails point straight up to the sky, then righting themselves again. I know nothing about wildlife and wonder if this is how ducks feed.

It’s so quiet I can hear my own breathing. There are no traffic sounds as in Chicago, no streetcars or trains or rumbling carriage wheels or horses clomping down cobblestone streets. The only sounds that disturb the stillness are crows calling and birds chirping and water slapping against the dock—until some fool shatters it by calling, “Elizabeth! . . . Elizabeth!” His voice is loud and insistent. I don’t turn my head, ignoring him as his footsteps hurry along the path, coming in my direction. He stops beside me, panting, and thumps my arm playfully. “You’re such a tease, Elizabeth. Why are you ignoring me?” I finally look up, and he steps back in surprise. “You aren’t Elizabeth!”

“No, I am not. Which is precisely why I didn’t answer you.” I comb my blowing hair out of my eyes with my fingers.

“I’m sorry,” he says. But instead of excusing himself and moving away, he remains where he is, towering over me and scratching his head as if bewildered. I turn to him again, scowling at his rudeness. He is about the same age as me with eyes the same gray-blue color as the lake. His hair is so fair it’s nearly white. His eyebrows, which are still raised in surprise, are pale as well. “It’s astounding,” he says. “You look exactly like Elizabeth. You could be her sister!”

“I have no sisters, I assure you. Or brothers either, for that matter.” The polite thing for him to do would be to excuse himself and leave. Instead, he sits down on the bench beside me and extends his hand. “I’m Derk Vander Veen. I work here at the hotel . . . well, for the summer, that is.”

I ignore his outstretched hand, then realize I’m being just as rude as he is. Besides, I came here for a reprieve from all the stiff social rules and mores. “Anna Nicholson. How do you do?” I extend my fingers, palm down, and he holds them awkwardly, as if unfamiliar with the proper way to greet a lady. The first time William and I were introduced, his touch caused a rush of heat to travel up my arm to my cheeks even though I was wearing silk gloves. I have no such reaction this time even with bare fingers. “I arrived on the steamship last evening from Chicago. In the storm,” I tell him.

“That was some storm, wasn’t it? It’s going to take all morning to clean up the downed branches.”

“I was quite certain we would sink to the bottom of Lake Michigan. I’m not at all sure why we didn’t.”

“It wouldn’t have been the first time a ship was wrecked in a storm like that one. I could tell you quite a few stories about the ones that didn’t make it. It’s kind of a hobby of mine.”

“No, thank you.” My voice sounds prim. “I don’t care to hear about sinking ships. I’ve already decided to take the train back to Chicago when my holiday ends.”

He laughs, although I hadn’t meant it as a joke. I find it strange that I can’t recall William’s laugh. Maybe he laughed in the beginning when we were first courting, but certainly not in the last few months when everything began to fall apart like a house made of bricks without mortar. “Do you have family here in Holland?” Derk asks. “You must.”

“Why must I? What makes you say that?”

“Look in the mirror!” he says, laughing again. “You look just like the rest of us Hollanders. This town was settled by Dutch immigrants, so a good many of us have fair skin and blond hair and blue eyes. Like mine. Like yours.”

I have always known that my parents adopted me as a newborn, so I suppose there is a chance that he’s right and that my ancestry is Dutch. I rarely think about being adopted and haven’t had any interest in finding my birth parents. Even so, I find it intriguing that he thinks I resemble this girl named Elizabeth. Might she be a relative?

“You could pass for a Hollander if you wanted to,” Derk tells me. “You could claim to be Elizabeth’s cousin or some other long-lost relative, and people would believe you.”

“Is Elizabeth your girlfriend?”

“No,” he says quickly, shaking his head. “No. She’s my neighbor’s granddaughter. I can’t afford a wife until I graduate. I’m studying at Western Seminary here in Holland to become an ordained minister.”

Something stirs inside me. I want to ask if he will be a minister like the one in my parents’ church or like Reverend Torrey in the church that William forbade me to attend. I have no idea how to frame such a question, so instead I ask, “Have you always wanted to be a minister?”

Derk grins. “No, when I was a boy I wanted to be the captain of a sailing ship and travel around the world. That’s why I know so much about all the shipwrecks on Lake Michigan.” He smiles so easily. Once again I think of William, who gives away smiles as if they are rare coins that must be doled out carefully. “I gave up the idea of sailing the world when God called me to the ministry a few years ago,” Derk finishes. What an odd thing to say—that God called him. I want to ask him what he means, but he stands up. “I need to get back to work. It was very nice meeting you, Miss Nicholson. I hope we can talk again sometime.”

“Good day,” I say with a polite nod, but I doubt we’ll speak again. I can’t imagine that the Hotel Ottawa would encourage conversations between staff members and guests. I watch Derk lope across the grass, wondering how he’d dared to approach a woman of my social standing in the first place without a proper introduction. Then I realize how casually I’m dressed. He can’t tell that I’m from a wealthy Chicago family. Besides, he had mistaken me for Elizabeth—unless that was just a ruse. Mother warned me about the ways of unscrupulous men. But why didn’t she warn me that a respectable man like William, a man who was above reproach, could hold my heart in his well-manicured hands and crush it in an instant?

The bench feels cold and hard beneath me. I stand and walk back to the hotel. Derk is picking up downed tree limbs and stacking them in a pile. He gives a little wave when he sees me. “God called me to the ministry,” he’d said. But how had he known that was his purpose? I think about what Reverend Torrey said in one of his sermons: “God has a plan and a purpose for your life.” Those words had intrigued me—and they had made William furious. He said that my purpose was to be his wife, the mother of our children, to assist him with his social duties as the son of one of Chicago’s foremost families. He said that wanting more than that was ridiculous and selfish and insulting to both of our families. I think William feared that I was turning into a suffragette, when all I really wanted was to fill the emptiness inside. Something important seemed to be missing in my life, and I had an overwhelming urge to find what I had lost.

I rarely think about being adopted, yet after my conversation with Derk, I wonder if perhaps I was born for a different purpose. What if God’s true plan for me has been thwarted by my adoption? Could that be why I feel so empty and restless? Or perhaps it was God’s purpose that I be adopted, and I am called to become William’s wife.

I don’t know. I’m so confused!

I reach my hotel room and knock on Mother’s adjoining door to see if she is ready for breakfast. “I was wondering where you were,” she says when she sees me. I can tell by her cursory glance that she disapproves of my windblown hair. Even in casual clothing my mother is dressed fashionably.

“Shall I go down and choose a table?” I ask.

“Yes. I’ll be there in a moment. But please comb your hair first.”

I wait until Mother and I are both seated and our breakfast arrives before saying casually, “An odd thing happened on my walk this morning. One of the hotel workers mistook me for a woman named Elizabeth. He said she was Dutch, and that I looked Dutch, too. Do you know what nationality I really am?”

For the space of a heartbeat, Mother’s expression can only be described as frightened. She is rarely flustered—no matter how awkward the social situation—and is always ready with an appropriate reply. But for a few interminable seconds, she is speechless. When she recovers she looks away and says, “I have no idea. . . . Do you see our waiter, Anna? I would love some more tea. How about you?”

“No, thank you. But I wondered—”

“What shall we do today? They say the beach is lovely. Is that where you went for your walk?” Her attempts to change the subject annoy me and pique my curiosity even more.

“So, is it possible I might be Dutch?” I ask.

Mother is too well-mannered to sigh, but I can tell she wants to. “The adoption was handled privately, through our lawyer. We have no way of knowing the details.”

“Is there a way to find out?”

“I don’t think so. . . . Is that our waiter?” She waves him over and asks for more tea. When he’s gone she says, “What difference would it make to know, Anna? You’re my daughter, and I couldn’t love you more if I had given birth to you.”

“I know, I know.” But I silently plan to ask my father the same question the next time I see him. “Do you think Father will join us here?” I ask.

Mother knows me too well. “Your father doesn’t know anything about your background either, Anna, so please don’t ask him. You’ll hurt his feelings.”

“Have I hurt yours? I didn’t mean to.” The waiter arrives before she can reply, and I watch him fill her teacup. He is wearing a white vest and black bow tie, as if he’s serving in a fine Chicago restaurant—not in a resort in the wilds of Michigan. I shake my head when he offers me some. “None for me, thank you.”

“Of course you haven’t offended me,” she says when the waiter is gone. “I suppose it’s only natural to be a little curious at times. But most girls would envy the life that your father has given you. Questioning him might make you seem ungrateful.”

She’s right. And maybe that’s why William became so angry with me. He was giving me everything a woman could dream of—a handsome husband, wealth and prestige, a beautiful new home, a wedding trip to Europe—yet I had told William I felt empty inside. Because I do.

“Very well, I won’t ask Father,” I say.

“Good girl. Now, how shall we spend our first day here?”