Chapter 13

Anna

Hotel Ottawa
1897

It’s another lazy day at the hotel. The sun is shining around the edges of my window shades when I wake up, so I know it has already risen well above the eastern shores of Black Lake. Yet here I am, still in bed. Ever since I arrived here in the storm, I’ve had the most disconcerting dreams. The first few nights I suffered through a repeat of my childhood nightmare of nearly drowning in a shipwreck. Then I dreamt about Mama giving me the peppermint and calling me lieveling. Last night I had another odd dream: Mama and I were sitting in the castle church, and she was wiping her tears again with the white handkerchief embroidered with blue flowers. But this time when the sermon ended and the music began to play, she took my hand and walked with me up the long aisle to the front of the church. She knelt down in front of the altar, her arm around my waist. After a moment, the minister came and put his hand on her head to pray for her.

I can’t imagine my mother doing such a humbling thing in real life, but I think I know what prompted that dream. I was rereading my diary yesterday, and it reminded me of the day when Reverend Torrey preached such a powerful sermon that I nearly walked up the aisle myself when he invited people to come forward for prayer. Fear held me back. I watched others go forward, but I remained in my pew, knowing how appalled William would be if he ever found out that I’d surrendered my life to God in such a public way. Now I have missed my chance.

I climb out of bed and wash my face, then dress and brush my hair, which has become much curlier in the lakeside humidity. I love the simplicity of my morning routine here. If I never have to sit still again while Sophia, our maid, yanks and twists and pins my hair into submission, it will be fine with me—not to mention being squeezed into a stiff corset until I can barely breathe. Mother’s room is already empty, so I head downstairs to join her for breakfast. The more I ponder the mystery of how I knew what the word lieveling meant, the more certain I am that Mother is hiding the truth from me. She must know more about my birth and my family’s ancestry than she’s willing to admit. Why else would she change the subject every time I bring it up? How will I learn the truth if she won’t tell me? Perhaps I could try to track down my nanny, Bridget O’Malley, and ask what she knows. But I’m not a detective, and besides, Bridget is likely married by now, with a new name.

I find Mother’s table and sit down across from her, ordering toast and jam and strong tea. She looks as serene and elegant as a queen despite our humble surroundings, as if she might rise at any moment and glide off to rule over her kingdom. Prying any information from her about my nanny will be as difficult as unlocking the vault in William’s bank. I wish I could recall the names and faces of some of the other servants we had when I was a child but I’m embarrassed to admit that I never paid much attention to them. They labored in the background of my life, useful yet invisible, and of no more interest to a spoiled child like myself than the draperies or plant stands. Now I wish that I had paid attention. Surely one of them must have spoken to me in Dutch.

“You look very pensive this morning,” Mother says. “Have you reached a decision about reconciling with William?”

I shake my head, then remember my manners. “No, I haven’t.”

“Would it help at all if we talked about it?”

“I don’t think I’m ready to talk about William yet.” I want to change the subject, but Mother persists.

“I realize that he hurt your feelings, but you may have hurt his, Anna. The mature thing for both of you to do is to forgive and forget.”

Her advice reminds me of the conversation I overheard between her and Honoria Stevens—Mother had counseled Mrs. Stevens to forgive and forget her husband’s unfaithfulness, as well. Mother had made it sound simple, but surely forgiving a sin as great as adultery couldn’t possibly be easy. And what about William’s refusal to consider my wishes, his insistence on having everything his way? Would that become the pattern if we married?

“William is willing to try again,” Mother continues, “so why not go home and pick up where you left off? You have a beautiful wedding to plan, and a wonderful life with William to look forward to.” When I don’t reply she adds, “You love him, don’t you?”

I ponder her question for a long time before saying, “I really don’t know.” Did I ever love him? Or was I merely in love with the idea of marrying a man who was as handsome and charming and as determined to succeed as William—a man who could have chosen any woman in Chicago’s high society for his bride, but had chosen me. After talking with Derk, I now view William differently. He seems selfish and demanding, with little regard for my happiness and no respect for the choices I made.

Mother removes the linen napkin from her lap and sets it beside her plate. I can tell by the way she lifts her chin and purses her lips that she is trying not to lose patience with me. “Listen, Anna dear. This may sound harsh, but it’s time for you to stop moping.”

“I’m not moping. What makes you think I’m moping?”

“Well, the way you’ve let yourself go, for one thing. Your hair, your clothes . . .” She leans across the table and lowers her voice to ask, “Do you even have a petticoat on?”

“It’s too hot to wear a petticoat.”

“And your posture, Anna. You know better than to slouch in your chair that way.”

Years of obedience make me sit up straight at my mother’s rebuke, my back erect, my chin held high.

“That’s better. I worry that if we stay here too much longer, these bad habits will become ingrained.”

I agree to take a stroll with Mother after breakfast to the sandy beachfront on Lake Michigan. The sun feels wonderfully warm on my face and bare arms, but Mother insists I wear a hat and carry a parasol to shield my skin. “You wouldn’t want to ruin your beautiful complexion, would you?” Her question renews my curiosity about my heritage. Except for our Swedish maid, no one I know has skin as fair as mine. But I decide not to spoil our walk by raising the subject again.

When we return to the hotel, Mrs. Stevens invites Mother to play canasta with a group of guests on the wide front porch. Happy to be on my own, I make my way to the dock. I watch Derk distribute rowboats and oars to a group of enthusiastic hotel patrons. He steadies one of the boats as a young couple climbs aboard, then pushes them away from shore with a hearty shove. He’s the closest thing I have to a friend here, and I feel drawn to him. When he turns and sees me, he smiles and comes to stand beside me.

“Good morning. Beautiful day for a sail, isn’t it? The wind is just right, if you’re interested.”

I shake my head. “No, thank you. But I have another question for you . . . if I’m not keeping you from your work, that is. I can come back at a better time.”

“Why don’t you sign up for a sailboat ride with me or an excursion in one of these rowboats? We would have hours to talk.”

“Thank you, but no. I will never step aboard a ship again as long as I live.”

“Never? How will you get back to Chicago?”

“I plan to take the train.”

He looks as though he’s about to laugh, thinking I’ve made a joke. Then he sees that I’m serious and says, “There’s really no reason to be frightened. Look how calm the water is today.” He gestures to the sparkling expanse of Black Lake. “We could easily cross over to the Macatawa Hotel and back. I could promise to hug the shoreline if it will make you feel better.”

“Again, thank you, but no.”

He must hear the coldness in my voice because he quickly apologizes. “I’m sorry, Anna. I shouldn’t tease you. What was it you wanted to ask me?”

I feel foolish now for disturbing him, but I plow forward. “It’s a hypothetical question, really. But if your lady-friend, Caroline, decided that she wanted to reconcile with you, would you do it?”

He scratches his chin thoughtfully. He doesn’t wear a beard or a mustache and the stubble on his face looks as though someone sprinkled him with gold dust. “She would have to change her mind about being married to a minister or there would be no point in starting all over again.” I try to stifle my sigh, but he must have heard it anyway because he asks, “Why? Does your fiancé want to renew your engagement?”

“I haven’t spoken with him yet, but my father has. He says William is willing to forgive and forget if I promise never to go back to the castle church.”

“Are you going to do it?”

“My parents are pressuring me to. They think William will make a wonderful husband and that we’re well-suited for each other.”

“But . . . ? I sense your hesitation, Anna.”

“I don’t know. . . . What if I still feel like something is missing from my life?”

Derk scratches his chin again as he ponders my question. “I’m no expert on marriage,” he finally says. “My mother died when I was very young, and my father never remarried. But I’ve been reading my Tante Geesje’s memoirs, and when she fell in love she thought about the man she wanted to marry day and night. There was no doubt in her mind that they were meant for each other. I think that’s the way I want to feel, too, when I fall in love again.”

“Did they attend the same church?”

“Not at first. But my aunt was very firm in her beliefs, and the man she loved seemed willing to adopt her faith so they could be married.”

“Were they happy together?”

“I don’t know,” he says with a shrug and a sheepish grin. “I haven’t gotten to the end of the story yet, and she won’t tell me. She was already a widow when I met her. But listen, Anna, maybe you need some answers to all the questions you have about religion before you commit to something as important as marriage. You need to be sure you’re making the right decision before you agree to give up that church.”

“That’s good advice. And I do have a lot of questions. I started reading the Bible before I came here, but it was our old family Bible and much too big to bring with me on this trip.”

“I can give you a Bible to read if you’d like.”

“Yes, I would like that. Thank you.” We have both noticed another couple approaching the dock, as if interested in taking out a rowboat. “We’ll talk again,” I say, then hurry away to sit on the nearby bench so Derk can do his job. I see him gesturing toward the eastern end of Black Lake, presumably giving directions and advice before helping the couple climb into a rowboat. The oars make loud splashing sounds as the man tries to maneuver the paddles, and I hear the woman giggling nervously. More patrons come and go—rowing seems to be a popular activity today—and I can tell that Derk is going to be much too busy to talk again. I head across the lawn to the hotel, and as I step onto the porch, I’m surprised to see that my mother isn’t playing cards with the others.

“Do you know where she went?” I ask Mrs. Stevens.

“She decided not to play with us after all. The poor dear has a headache.”

I go upstairs to check on her, and as I open my door, I’m surprised to see Mother standing near my bed. She quickly stuffs something into the drawer of my nightstand, but it gets stuck and the drawer won’t close.

My diary. My mother has been reading my diary.

I stand frozen in the doorway in shock. “W-what are you doing?” How much of it has she read? I try to calculate how much time I spent talking with Derk and sitting on the bench. Was this the first time she’s read it, or has she been invading my privacy for months? I step into the room and close the door behind me. “That’s my diary!”

“Yes. I’m sorry. I’ve been so worried about you, Anna, and I didn’t know what else to do. You won’t talk to me. I’m simply trying to understand you.”

At least Mother didn’t compound the injury by lying to me, but I’m no less outraged. “How could you?”

“Your father told me that your breakup with William had something to do with religion, and I thought if I understood your feelings I could help you. You seem so confused and unhappy—”

“And so you read my private thoughts?”

“I did. Forgive me, darling. And please believe that I did it out of love and concern for you.”

“You had no right!” I turn to leave again. I’m much too angry to talk to her.

“Wait! Don’t run away.” Mother hurries across the room and stops me. “Talk to me, Anna, darling. If you’re really as lonely and unhappy as you say you are in your diary, then I want to help you. Tell me what I can do.”

“Nothing . . . There’s nothing you can do except stay out of my business. I’m a grown woman. I can figure out these things for myself.” I try to shake off her restraining hand, but she tightens her grip on my arm.

“Anna, I’m as confused by all of this as William is. We’ve given you everything you could ever want—and yet it isn’t enough? Even our church isn’t good enough for you?”

I huff in frustration, knowing she will never understand. “The castle church is very different from ours. They make God seem so . . . so real. If you would come there with me when we get home, then maybe you would see for yourself.”

“Are you ready to go home? Shall we see about tickets? Your father misses you and so does William, I’m sure.”

I quickly shake my head. “No. I’m not ready to go home.” I sound like a petulant child. I know Mother will never agree to attend the castle church with me, and if I leave Michigan now, she and Father will pressure me even harder to reconcile with William. I want to take Derk’s advice and look for answers to all the questions I have about God before I agree to stop attending the castle church. Before I agree to marry William. Maybe Derk can help answer some of them. After all, he said he was studying to become a minister.

“Anna, dear, tell me what I can do. How can I help?”

I start to shake my head again, then I do think of something. “I want to know about my past, where I came from. And this time, don’t change the subject. Tell me everything you know about my parents.”

Mother is quiet for a long moment before saying, “I don’t know anything about your real parents. I’m sorry, but that’s the truth.”

“Does Father know?”

“Neither of us does.”

“What about my original birth certificate? That should have information about my family.”

“You didn’t have a birth certificate.”

“How is that possible? Doesn’t everyone have a birth certificate?”

“I’m sorry, but you didn’t. Our lawyer arranged to have one made for you, listing us as your legal parents. We could only guess at your age and your birthday.”

“Well, where did I come from? I didn’t simply fall out of the sky and land on your doorstep, did I?”

I can tell that Mother is reluctant to say more, but I wait, needing to know the truth. She owes me that much. “You were abandoned, Anna,” she says softly. “No one knew who you were or who your mother was. We tried to find out, but we didn’t succeed. Your father and I had longed for a child for years, so when you came to us, you were like a gift from heaven.”

“I was a newborn?”

“You’re our precious daughter, in every possible way.” Mother pulls me into her arms, but I remain rigid, still too angry to hug her in return. “Please say you’ll forgive me for reading your diary, Anna. I did it with the very best of intentions.”

I’m still angry, but I finally say, “I forgive you.”

She holds me close, the way she did when I was a child. I finally wrap my arms around her, and I feel like a child again as my tears fall against her soft shoulder. “I love you, darling Anna,” she murmurs.

“Ik hou ook van jou, Mama.” I whisper in return.

“Hmm? What did you say?” she asks.

What had I said? Where had those words come from? “I-I said, I love you, too.” Somehow I know that’s what those words mean. But how? And if these were phrases I remember from my childhood, where had I learned them? Someone had once wrapped her arms around me as Mother had just done and had whispered, “Ik hou van je, Anneke.” I remember squeezing her tightly in return and saying, “Ik hou ook van jou.” I love you, too. Was I losing my mind?

I couldn’t go back to Chicago yet. Not until I solved this mystery. I needed to talk to Derk again.