Devotion(24)

Breathing hard, we lugged it awkwardly to the water’s edge then, together, swung it out as far as we could. As we all let go, I stumbled and fell into the shallows. Thea and Hans waded in and hauled me to the bank, doubled over in laughter, and I felt a surge of happiness that made me want to cry.


We walked back to the Pasches’ in the afternoon, sodden, throwing stones at trees. As we approached, however, we could hear no sound of celebration from the barn, and inside there were only a few members of the congregation sitting in tight bunches, talking intently. Reinhardt Geschke looked up and, seeing Hans, beckoned him over. Elize stood and came up to Thea and me.

‘What happened to you?’ she asked, eyes wide.

‘Nothing,’ Thea said. ‘We were at the river. Hanne fell in and we pulled her out.’

‘Where is everyone?’ I asked.

Elize glanced back to where Reinhardt and Hans were speaking in hushed voices. ‘There has been news. People have gone home to talk it over.’

Thea and I glanced at each other.

‘What is it?’ Thea asked.

‘Go talk to your parents,’ Elize told us. ‘Go home, girls. You’ll catch your death.’


I stepped through the back door of the cottage and found my father, Mama and Matthias seated around the table in silence.

‘Where have you been?’ asked Papa.

‘At the river,’ I mumbled.

Mama pushed her chair back, the legs squealing against the boards, and pulled out the wildflowers Thea had threaded in my hair. She flung them onto the fire.

‘What is it?’ I asked. ‘Elize said something’s happened.’

‘Elize saw you like this?’

I glanced at Matthias, expecting a look of amusement or solidarity, but he was staring at his hands, face blank.

‘Papa? What is it?’

‘Consent has been given.’ My father suddenly gave a great, gasping sob. ‘Consent has been given!’

I stood still, not understanding. Hermine began to cry in her cradle on the ground, but it was as though Mama could not hear her. She sank back into her chair.

Papa looked at me and I saw that his good eye was wet with tears. His smile was broad and pained. ‘Praise God, we shall be free, Hanne,’ he said. ‘We are free to leave.’

I watched as Mama slowly reached for the wrapped rye loaf on the table and held it, as though suddenly bewildered as to what it was there for, what purpose it served. ‘It is Russia then?’ she asked, voice soft.

Papa shook his head.

‘America?’

He reached across the table and took up Mama’s free hand. ‘A colony where we might make a new life of our own design. Where we may worship freely.’

My voice was a crack in the wall. ‘What place?’

‘The colony of South Australia.’

Matthias and I stared at each other, mouths open. We had been moulded in the crucible of our village and its allotments, the forest and the river. I had a sudden fear that if we were to leave our home, I would become formless, shapeless.

‘Where is that?’ my brother asked.

Hermine’s crying pitched higher. Mama withdrew her hand from Papa’s and picked her up off the floor.

‘It is not so far, Matthias,’ said Papa. ‘Pastor Flügel writes that the journey will take six months.’

‘Six months,’ Mama murmured. Hermine arched against her, wriggling.

Papa leaned back in his chair. ‘God will be with us.’

Mama unbuttoned her blouse and set Hermine to a dark nipple.

‘How will we pay for passage?’ asked Matthias. He had gone pale. Papa opened his mouth to speak, but my brother continued in a low voice. ‘Last time they told us we had permission to leave, you sold nearly everything.’

‘Not everything.’

Matthias shook his head. ‘Papa, look what happened to the Eichenwalds. What if the King changes his mind again?’

‘It will not happen. Matthias, God has rewarded us for our faith, our patience. Our suffering! We will be issued passports.’

Mama prised Hermine off one breast and turned her to the other, saying nothing. Her chest was mapped with blue veins. I tried not to stare at them.

‘How will we pay for passage?’ I asked.

‘Pastor Flügel has made an agreement with a gentleman in London. He has taken pity on our plight. His agent speaks German; it is all being arranged.’

‘He will lend us the money?’ Mama asked.

Papa turned to her. ‘Johanne, this is our chance. This is the Lord’s work.’

Matthias had not moved. I was trembling. Hermine spluttered at my mother’s breast as Papa rose and fetched his Bible.


My father’s reading that night was so long I grew numb in my seat. Such was his joy, which ever manifested in praise of God. He exalted in the scripture, intoning the words at us as though he were painting us with grace.

After prayers, Papa seized his bread and cheese and ate noisily, breathing heavily from his nose in relief from hunger. I could not eat. Neither, I saw, could Matthias. His voice, when he finally spoke again, was empty of feeling. ‘So, then. We are going.’

Papa wiped his mouth. ‘Praise God.’

‘And what of our things here?’ I asked.

Papa shook his head, swallowing loudly. ‘Tools, we will take. What may fit in a trunk. Maybe two trunks. Everything else, we will sell.’