Chapter 23
Anna
Hotel Ottawa
1897
The fight I had with Mother keeps replaying in my mind, circling around and around like a boat on a small lagoon. We retreat to our separate rooms, the air between us prickly with hurt and distrust. Unable to relax or nap, I pick up the Bible Derk gave me and go downstairs to read it on the wide front veranda. The view of Black Lake through the porch’s arched opening resembles a picture postcard, with blue sky and sparkling water and lazy sailboats drifting by. I watch other guests stroll past, laughing and at ease, men in their straw boaters and women in summer skirts and cotton shirtwaists. Most of the ladies carry parasols or wear wide-brimmed hats to protect their skin from the sun. I love the feeling of the warm summer sun on my face, but I don’t dare indulge in it. I can’t return to Chicago with my complexion as sun-browned as Derk’s is. I’m still thinking of him and the unhappy way we parted as I open the Bible to where I left off in the Gospel of Mark. Something inside me slowly uncoils as I read.
Mother finds me late that afternoon, still reading in my chair on the veranda. She looks rested from her nap. “What are you reading, Anna?” Her tone is friendly and offhand, and she cocks her head to try to see the book I’m holding.
I lift it to show her. “It’s the Bible.”
“Oh.”
She sounds annoyed, as if she has caught me reading a cheap dime romance novel or a sleazy murder mystery. I can’t resist saying, “Derk gave it to me.” All the anger I felt earlier after the infuriating incident near the dock comes roaring back, making my ears hum. Mother sits down on a chair beside me but remains perched on the edge.
“I don’t understand this sudden fascination of yours with the Bible or with that strange church on LaSalle Street,” she says.
“There’s nothing odd about wanting to learn more about God. Shouldn’t everyone know what the Bible says? Isn’t that why we go to church and listen to sermons—so we’ll know how we’re supposed to live?”
“Even so, I see no reason to become so . . . fanatical about it. And why would you allow religion to come between you and a very good man who loves you?”
“I don’t know how to explain it to you, Mother. . . . I just don’t. And I don’t want to argue with you anymore.”
“You can always come to me with your questions instead of going to a stranger. I’ve been a church member all my life.”
Without another word, I find the Bible passage I just read, the one that stopped me cold and gave me so much to think about. “Someone asked Jesus which commandment was the most important one,” I tell Mother. “Jesus replied with these words: ‘Thou shalt love the Lord they God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.’”
I turn in my chair to face her. “That sounds so . . . fanatical, doesn’t it?” I ask, using Mother’s word. “Imagine loving God that much—with all our heart and soul and mind and strength. How do we do that? How do we show Him that much love? It seems as though there are so many other things that take precedence in our minds and hearts, like all the social events that are on our calendars, and which gown we should wear, and how to make certain our home is just as stylish as the next person’s.”
“Don’t diminish the importance of what we do, Anna. The women we know serve on the boards of some very important services and charities.”
I barely hear her. I’m not finished. “And how do I love my neighbor as much as I love myself? Myself! I’ve been spoiled and pampered all my life. Even if Jesus means only loving the people who live next door to us, we barely even know them, let alone love them!”
Mother reaches across my lap and closes the Bible, then takes my hands in hers. “Anna, dear. You’re getting all worked up over things you don’t understand. This is precisely why it’s a mistake to try to read the Good Book without proper training. We aren’t meant to understand it. We must leave it to our ordained ministers to interpret Jesus’ words for our current times and situations.”
“But that’s exactly why I asked Derk for help. He’s studying at a seminary to become a minister. Working here at the hotel is only his summer job.”
“But he isn’t a minister yet. Listen, we all do the best we can every day to live as we should. God knows none of us is perfect. Now,” she says, releasing my hands and rising to her feet. “I believe it’s nearly time to freshen up and dress for dinner. Shall we go upstairs?”
I stop at the desk for my room key and the clerk hands me a folded note. It’s from Derk. I quickly stuff it inside my Bible so Mother doesn’t see it. I wait until I’m alone in my room to read it.
I apologize for any trouble I caused today between you and your mother. I feel terrible about the abrupt way we had to part. There is more I would like to say to you, and I know you still have questions for me that I never had a chance to answer. If it isn’t proper for us to meet again, I think you would find my Tante Geesje very helpful and easy to talk to. I’m sure she will meet with you if you are still interested—if that’s even possible now, under the circumstances.
I begin work tomorrow morning at 8:00 (unless I’ve been fired), but I will make a point to arrive an hour earlier if you would like to talk one last time—if you are able to or interested in talking, that is. If nothing else, I would like to say a proper good-bye and wish you all the best in your future. I’ll understand if you’re finished with me and don’t want to see me again, but on the off-chance that you do want to talk, I’ll be waiting in our usual place at 7:00 am.
Sincerely,
Derk Vander Veen
I refold his note and tuck it inside my Bible again. I don’t understand why my heart is thumping along like a carriage with a broken wheel at the prospect of seeing him. I don’t need to stop and consider whether or not it is wise or proper to meet with him again. I already know that I’ll be awake early tomorrow morning, and that I will go out to speak with Derk. I tell myself it’s because I need to apologize for Mother’s rudeness and thank him for all his help. But it’s also because I want to see him one last time.
I arrive at the bench before he does the next morning. The wood is damp with dew so I remain standing, shivering a little in the cool morning air. The water on Black Lake is motionless, the hotel grounds nearly deserted, and I feel as if the new day is holding its breath, just like I am. The morning is so quiet I can hear my heart pounding in my ears. At last I see Derk approaching, his fair hair bright in the sunlight. When he sees me he breaks into an easy jog.
“Thanks for coming, Miss Nicholson.” He is grinning and breathless from the run.
“Derk, I need to apologize for Mother’s rudeness yesterday.”
He tries to brush it off. “No, that’s not necessary—”
“Yes. It is. She was very rude to you for no reason at all, and I want you to know how sorry I am. You didn’t deserve it. And I insist that you stop calling me Miss Nicholson and call me Anna like all my other friends do.”
His grin widens. “Thank you . . . Anna.”
I glance around nervously, as a few early morning fishermen and hotel workers begin to appear. “Listen, in light of yesterday’s unfortunate incident, I don’t believe it would be wise for us to speak here. If we were to go for a stroll somewhere, I would be able to tell my mother I have been out walking.”
“Are you sure? I mean, would it be proper for us to . . . ?”
For some reason, I feel rebellious. “I’m a grown woman,” I tell him. “I can do whatever I please. Where shall we go?”
“Have you hiked up Mt. Pisgah yet?” he asks, pointing to the sand dune behind the hotel, partly covered with trees and bushes and dune grass. A row of private cottages perches near the base of it.
“I haven’t. And I hear it offers a beautiful view.”
“It’s a rigorous walk—”
“Lead the way,” I say, taking his arm. We follow the wooden walkway through the hotel grounds, then continue along the boardwalk as we slowly climb the dune. We pass lovely, whitewashed cottages with breezy front porches and gauzy curtains blowing from open second-story windows. No one seems to be up this early, and the only sounds I hear are birdsong and the distant call of gulls.
At first Derk is quiet, but as I pause a moment to catch my breath and look back at how far we’ve come, he finally says, “There’s something I feel compelled to speak to you about, Anna. I know we don’t know each other very well, but . . . but it’s been bothering me.” I wait. Derk looks unusually serious as he scratches his chin and rakes his fingers through his fair hair. “I don’t think you should marry William,” he says. “I think you would be making a mistake.”
I don’t know what I was expecting him to say, but it certainly wasn’t this. “Why?” I ask.
“Well, for two reasons. First of all, you don’t love him, and I believe that love is a very important ingredient in a marriage. And second, a husband is the spiritual head of the family and should encourage his wife to grow in her faith, not hinder her.”
Derk is adding to my already considerable doubts about William. But I can’t let him talk me out of marrying him. I start walking again. “Thank you for your concern,” I say primly, “but I believe I’ve already explained that my father is having financial difficulties, and he needs my help. I have decided to marry William for my parents’ sakes, so they can continue living the only lifestyle they’ve ever known.”
Derk keeps up with me and takes my elbow again. “Your father’s problems are of his own making. He shouldn’t use you or ask you to sacrifice your future happiness in order to solve them.”
“He isn’t using me. He doesn’t know I overheard him. He doesn’t know that’s why I agreed to marry William. And I love my parents very much.” But even as I profess my love for them, I recall the conversation I overheard and the enormous emptiness I felt as I listened:
“She’s curious about her parents. Perhaps it’s time you told her.”
“Told her what? I don’t know anything about her parents, you know that.”
“You could tell her how you found her. How she came to us.”
“I don’t think that’s wise.”
I had been too afraid to ask how they had found me—nor did I know how to raise the question without admitting I’d been listening at their door. Even now an appalling feeling of rejection washes over me as I remember that my real parents abandoned me as a newborn baby. No matter what I learn about them, whether they left me on a street corner or in an orphans’ home, it won’t diminish the hurt and shame I feel. I was unwanted. Father and Mother were kind enough to give me a home. “I have to help them,” I say aloud. I hope Derk drops the matter, but he doesn’t.
“This country has been in a financial depression for four years,” he says. “People of all incomes have felt its effects. Yes, your marriage might well improve your father’s finances, but at what cost? He’ll be back on his feet and you’ll be stuck in a loveless, unfulfilling marriage for the rest of your life. Or what if your marriage doesn’t solve his problems? You’ll still be stuck. The only reason you should marry William or anyone else is because you love him. No other reason is good enough.”
I find it hard to breathe, whether from the gradual climb or the conversation, I can’t tell. “It’s too late. I already gave William my word for a second time. I can’t go back on it again.”
“Fine, then. Even if you do marry him, I think he should allow you to attend any church you want to. Tante Geesje and her family were persecuted in the Netherlands for wanting to worship God freely. They came here to Michigan when it was nothing but a wilderness and endured great hardship to carve out a town where they could have that freedom. The same story has replayed throughout America’s history, starting with the Pilgrims. Thousands of people came here for religious freedom, and so now, at the turn of a new century, it’s outrageous for a husband to forbid his wife to attend a perfectly acceptable Christian church where she feels close to God. It’s just not right. I know you must see that, Anna. And when you add in the fact that you don’t really love him—”
“In the social circle I come from, marriages are very often mere alliances between families and businesses. They are rarely motivated by love. It’s nice when the two parties are attracted to each other and enjoy being together, as William and I did before we argued. But people don’t consider marrying for love. No one expects it as the norm.”
“And they live together for years and years anyway? Like strangers?”
I recall the conversation I overheard between Mother and Honoria Stevens. “Your husband isn’t the first gentleman to have a little fling, nor will he be the last. It’s much more common than one might imagine.” I can easily imagine the hurt and rejection I would feel if I learned that my husband was unfaithful to me. And yet, according to Mother, it is a very real possibility. Anger makes my voice sound clipped, my replies to Derk seem cold. “The couples I know certainly don’t live like strangers. They share a home, a family. They attend social events together and have genuine respect and affection for each other. Yet each person leads his or her own life with its own set of social expectations.” I’m too embarrassed to add that the couples I know also have separate bedrooms.
“Pardon me for asking, but what about your own parents?”
I pause as we reach the end of the wooden walkway. From here, the steep, narrow path is sandy and crisscrossed with tree roots, bordered by weeds and beach grass as it winds its way to the top. “In many ways, yes, that does describe my parents. They lead mostly separate lives. But there is no doubt in my mind that they both adore me. That’s why I would do anything for them, including marry a man I’m not sure I love.” I step off the walkway and begin to climb, letting anger and uncertainty propel me. I’ve never hiked on such a crude, steep path before, and I’m forced to cling tightly to Derk’s arm, praying I don’t twist an ankle. Only stubbornness keeps me from turning back. “Besides, I believe that love can grow between two people as the years go by and as they raise their children. Didn’t you say your aunt Geesje married a man she didn’t love? How did that turn out?”
He exhales as if reluctant to concede the point. “They were together a long time and raised four children. She says they were happy—”
“There. You see? I’m certain I will be happy as well. I’ll have a great many privileges in return for marrying a powerful, important man like William—a beautiful home, dozens of servants—”
“I can’t believe you’d be content with that life. There is so much more to you than those superficial things. Am I wrong, Anna?”
I recall my diary entries and the emptiness I’ve felt, the nagging sense that I don’t belong. “It’s the only life I’ve ever known or expected,” I say, avoiding the truth. “It’s the only role I know how to play. Rich or poor, every woman has expectations she must fulfill. When you marry, won’t there be certain obligations that your wife will be expected to meet? Obligations that go along with your career and way of life?”
“Yes, I suppose so. She’ll have to help me with my work as a pastor, care for our home and our children, be part of a church community where we pray for each other and celebrate together and sometimes grieve together—”
“She’ll cook your meals, wash your clothes, change your children’s diapers?”
“Well . . . we might be able to afford to hire a girl to help—”
“I wouldn’t know how to cook a meal or be part of a church community like yours any more than Caroline would know the rules of etiquette in my world.” For some reason, I’m fighting tears. “It seems to me that Caroline analyzed her future as a minister’s wife and decided she didn’t want it.”
“Yes, and you should do the same, Anna. Before you marry William, look into your future and decide if that’s what you want and if it’s how you want to live. That’s all I’m saying.”
My vision blurs, and I stumble over a large rock in the path. Derk grabs me to keep me from falling, and I cling to him in return. For a long moment we are in each other’s arms, closer than if we were dancing partners. I’m aware of his warmth and the scent of his soap, the bare skin of our arms touching. I find my balance and pull away to catch my breath, pretending it never happened.
“I appreciate your concern, Derk. It’s kind of you to offer your advice. Now if you would care to hear my opinion about your life, I’ll be happy to share it with you.” I sound stiff and formal and don’t know why.
“Go ahead. I would like to hear your opinion.” Derk folds his arms across his chest. He looks cross.
“I don’t think you should marry Caroline. I think you should pursue your intended career as a minister, not as a teacher or whatever else it was that she suggested. You told me when we first met that God had called you to be a minister. I don’t quite understand what it means that He ‘called’ you, but it seems to me you should do what God says. You once made the difficult choice to give up Caroline to become a minister, and I think you should follow through on it. I don’t think her compromise is a fair one at all.”
“Thank you for your advice.” Now he sounds reserved and formal. I’m sorry that we have annoyed each other, but I plunge on up the hill, continuing the conversation.
“When do you see her again?”
“Tonight.”
“And will you have to give her an answer tonight?”
“I’m sure she’ll be expecting one. She won’t like it very much if I make her wait.”
I halt and look up at him. “Do you realize how manipulative that makes her sound? I’m surprised you don’t see it. Perhaps you’re blinded by these feelings of love you keep touting so highly.”
“Have you ever been in love, Anna? If so, you would understand why it’s such a hard decision to make.”
At last we reach the top of the hill and the view steals what little breath I have left. Lake Michigan fills the horizon in front of us, reflecting the blue sky above my head. A passenger ship steams toward the channel that connects the two lakes, the lighthouse at the entrance looks like a toy. Below us on the left I see the sprawling Hotel Ottawa on the shores of Black Lake. More hotels and cottages dot the lake’s opposite shoreline. A sailboat is already taking advantage of the mild breeze to glide across the pristine water. The scene is so beautiful from up here that I can barely recall the noise and busyness of Chicago. Nor can I imagine returning to the life I just described to Derk, spending my days planning and attending parties and events, ordering clothes and making social calls, a life where my every move is scrutinized and gossiped about by my neighbors and peers. A life where thoughts of God or what my purpose in life might be are rarely considered, let alone discussed. This idyllic place on the shore of Lake Michigan isn’t the real world, merely a brief escape from it. In a few days, I’ll have to leave it all behind.
I look up at Derk. I’m still loosely holding his arm. “You and I are opposite sides of the same coin, don’t you see? You want to marry for love because you consider it all-important. You’re willing to compromise and possibly sacrifice your future for the sake of true love.”
“I haven’t decided yet—”
“And I don’t expect love at all. I believed I had a measure of it with William in the beginning, but now I’m not so sure. A secure future is more important to me, so I’m willing to sacrifice love in order to get it.”
“Why can’t we have both?” he asks heatedly. “Why can’t we marry for love and still have a good future? I could fall in love again with someone else who doesn’t mind being a minister’s wife. And surely there are other rich men you could fall in love with and marry, men who could help your father financially but who would still let you worship wherever you wanted to. You’re a beautiful woman, Anna. You can easily find a man who is more sympathetic and understanding than William is.”
I feel tears welling again and look away. “In an ideal world I suppose we could have both. But my world is hardly ideal. There’s a price to pay for the wealth and status my family enjoys. The truth is—and I’m realizing it just this moment—if I don’t marry William after announcing our engagement at a huge party, I’m not likely to receive a proposal from any other gentlemen in our social circle. William and his family are at the very top when it comes to prestige and prominence. They are highly respected, powerful, and perhaps a bit feared. Few men would risk the stigma of marrying William’s castoff fiancée. It would be assumed that something was wrong with me if our engagement ended, not the other way around, because no woman in her right mind would reject ‘perfect’ William.”
“You’re trapped.”
“Don’t feel sorry for me!” I say angrily. “I’ll have servants and a mansion and more money than I can possibly spend in one lifetime.”
“A beautiful bird in a gilded cage.”
“Listen, Derk, if you start giving away parts of your future to please Caroline, you’ll end up just as trapped as I am. Once she learns that she can manipulate you, she’ll never be satisfied with anything less than her own way from now on.”
“Caroline isn’t as bad as you seem to think she is.”
“And William isn’t as bad as you think, either. . . . And yet we’ve both advised each other not to marry them.”
“What do you make of that?”
“I don’t know. . . . But I think we’d better go back to the hotel now.”
He takes my arm again as we head down the hill, our shoes slipping on the sandy path. We don’t speak except to say things like “Watch your step!” I’m curious to know what will happen when Derk talks to Caroline tonight, and I long to ask him to tell me all about it tomorrow. But I have no right to know. The friendship we’ve briefly shared has come to an end, and now we must return to the lives we had before we met. Somewhere deep inside, I’m very sad about that.
“Thank you for the walk,” I say as we part. “It was very invigorating.”
“You’re welcome.” We’re back to speaking politely, distantly. The warm relationship we shared seems like only a dream.
“Good-bye, Derk. I wish you well with Caroline.”
I turn and start walking back toward the hotel. Behind me I hear him say, “Good-bye, Anna.”