Anna's Crossing: An Amish Beginnings Novel (19 page)

“If they need water, why can’t you give them water?”

“Because we have a responsibility to our own ship first. The passengers and the crew. That is the captain’s orders and captain’s orders are law.”

She stared at him. “Felix, geh un holl mir Christian. Aa Levi Wenger. Yetz!”

Felix hopped off the fo’c’sle deck, ran along the upper deck, disappeared into the lower deck, and returned in a moment, dragging Christian and the Mennonite minister Levi Wenger along with him. Anna met them at the ladder and spoke rapidly to them. Christian’s face went blank, then he climbed up on the fo’c’sle deck and took the spyglass from Bairn to peer at the slave ship. Slowly, he lowered the spyglass and passed it to Levi Wenger. Then the two men spoke together in quiet voices.

“Geb ihnen unser Wasser,” Christian said.

Bairn looked at Anna, stunned.

“He wants you to give them our water.”

“I cannae do that. The captain wouldn’t allow it.”

“Not the crew’s water. Just the passengers’.”

Bairn shook his head. “You don’t know what yer asking. We’re already running low on water. I cannae allow that.”

Christian and Anna exchanged a look. “Would you ask the captain?” she said.

Curious Germans emerged from the mustiness and the dankness of the lower deck, blinked warily, and looked about for the source of the smell.

Bairn blew a puff of air out of his cheeks. “I will ask the captain. And he will say no.” He crossed the deck to the Great Cabin in three strides, such was his confidence that the captain would dismiss this ridiculous request.

But the captain surprised Bairn. Surprised and disappointed
him. As long as the passengers agreed to pay full passage for everyone now, the captain would allow them to share half their water supplies with the slave ship. The crew would be under strict orders not to share water with the passengers. “If that’s how the Peculiars want to use their resources, so be it,” Captain Stedman said to Bairn with a curt dismissal.

Anna explained the condition to Christian and Levi, and both men nodded, then spoke to those who were on the upper deck. Most of the passengers held handkerchiefs over their noses. Some were weeping. Bairn couldn’t hear them from the fo’c’sle deck, but he saw beards and prayer caps nod in agreement.

Why? Why would they do this?

“Anna, the captain said he would put the crew under orders t’not share water. He meant what he said. Not even water for the animals.”

“We won’t ask any seaman for water. I promise.”

He wanted to shake her, to make her see what danger they were putting themselves in. “Dinnae let this happen! Why would you put yer people in that kind of jeopardy? ’Tis tantamount to suicide.”

“We believe that God will supply our needs.”

“Remember that when you lie parched on your hammock, tongue swollen, eyes bulgin’, desperate for a sip of fresh water.”

“If that is what will become of us, then at least we will meet God with a clean conscience. We will have done all we could to help those poor people.”

“Anna, you dinnae ken what yer doin’ to yerselves! Why?”

She lifted her chin. “‘For I was hungry and you gave me no meal, I was thirsty, and you gave me no drink.’”

He felt a jolt run through him, as shocking as if she had
struck him. “So that’s it? Yer quotin’ the Good Book to me like a preacher? Words on a page will bring dry comfort in a week’s time if we don’t get any rain.”

She kept her eyes on the slave ship. “You might be surprised by God’s response.”

Something so moving passed over her face, he found himself nearly holding his breath. She truly believed this, that God would answer her request as if He was at her beck and call. “More likely you will all die an agonizing death by thirst.”

“We’re not going to die of thirst,” Anna said. “We’re not.” Though, she sounded less confident.

To that he only grunted. “So you say.” They were oblivious to the dangers around them. He shook his head. Some people were too thick and too stubborn to heed advice.

He took a deep breath to calm himself before he picked up the speaking trumpet and shouted to the slave ship, “Aye. We have water to spare.” He crossed to the center of the fo’c’sle deck to speak to the gathered crowd, gesturing to the companionway. “All passengers below, if you please.”

Felix relinquished the spyglass to Bairn without any argument. He and Anna joined the other passengers at the waist as they drifted silently down the companionway.

Head down, Bairn ignored the stares of his crew as he gave orders to release half the casks of the passengers’ water. They rolled the water over to the longboats while his anger simmered and stewed. After the water had been delivered to the slave ship, he directed the men to drop the sails, drawing the sheets taut so what meager wind there was could be caught in the canvas. The ship’s bell rang, signaling a watch change.

For the rest of the day, the seamen talked softly amongst themselves, not joking for a change, not horsing around,
just talking quietly about the slave ship, about the
Charming Nancy
, and about what lay before them. Bairn climbed the ratlines as high as he could, watching until the topgallant sails of the slave ship disappeared from view, downstream and downwind.

May Anna’s God have mercy on them, he prayed, because the sun and the sea and the wind would not.

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.

August 28th, 1737

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.