Devotion(35)

‘Are you all right?’ asked Matthias. ‘You’re quiet.’

‘I haven’t seen her at all.’

‘Do you know if they let go of their lease?’

I stared at him. ‘I don’t know. Oh, I wish all the women would stop crying. They sound like cats.’

Matthias laughed, then winced as a sliver of wood pierced deep under his nail. ‘Verdammt.’

‘You’ll get an infection.’

‘It’s bleeding.’

‘Here.’ I picked up his thumb and, setting his nail between my teeth, tore it off to the quick.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I’ll suck it out.’ I placed the edge of his thumb between my lips. ‘Ugh, your hands taste horrible.’ I sobered immediately, remembering Christiana’s words to me the night of the Federschleissen. I could see Christiana sitting with her sister Elizabeth sleeping on her lap. She was undoing the toddler’s braids and combing her fingers through the matted hair.

Mama stepped around the side of the wagon, surprising us. She stared at me.

Matthias spoke first. ‘I have a splinter.’

‘Not anymore.’ I picked the tiny piece of wood off my tongue and held it up to Mama.

‘Get up. It’s time to leave.’ She hesitated, as if about to say something more, then turned away.

Matthias helped me to my feet. ‘Thank you,’ he whispered. ‘I would have hated to die of a splinter before we got there.’

I shoved him away from me. The uneasiness that had come upon me at our mother’s look and Christiana’s remembered words continued as we waited for our turn to board. I was clumsy. I had dirty hands. If Mama did not approve of me biting my brother’s nail, I did not dare to think of what she would say if I told her what Thea had done. I suddenly felt hot and unhappy, as though I were a dry leaf waiting to be smoked by the Devil. As the flow of people pushed me down the bank to the gangway, I glanced down to the shallows and the thought that I might never touch soil again passed through me. I thought of Thea’s dream and felt as though she might be right, that something bad was coming for us, something we would not be able to escape, and the crying that had resumed all around me solidified my fear into certainty. Everywhere, loved ones riven. I stood there, unable to move, until Mutter Scheck gave me a sharp poke between the shoulder blades with her bony finger and I was forced forwards into my father’s waiting hands.


Christian Pasche delivered a farewell address to those who remained on the bank once we had all boarded the barges.

I could not speak. On tiptoes, neck craning, I tried to find Thea in the crowd. I examined the faces lining the boats surrounding our own. She was nowhere to be seen. As Elder Pasche’s sermon continued, his voice oddly loud in the still air, I was struck with the awful feeling that Thea remained in Kay. That was why she had kissed me. She had known she was staying but had not been able to tell me; she had known it would break my heart. I remembered her body shaking next to mine.

Thea was not there. I would never see her again.

Everything in my body revolted against the thought. I could not leave her.

Pressed tightly against my parents, I held my hands against my ears to mute the sound of sobbing and began forcing my way forwards to the gangway.

Mama swung Hermine onto her hip and grabbed my wrist. ‘What are you doing? Stop that. People are looking.’

‘I can’t go,’ I whispered.

‘Stop it.’

‘No. Thea isn’t here.’

‘Hanne!’

She pulled me back and I began to cry. Mama stared at me, despairing. But then I saw tears in her own eyes and, a moment later, felt her fingers release my wrist. Matthias took my other hand, secretly, his shoulder pressed hard against my own so that no one might see.

‘I thought the Eichenwalds were coming?’ he whispered to Mama, eyes fixed on Elder Pasche.

Mama said nothing.

He squeezed my hand.

We were finally released from prayer with a resounding amen. Clouds came in from the west as the anchors were weighed and the boats began to move away from the bank. Someone screamed – a stifled shriek that pierced the low dissonance of farewell. I could see the diminishing figure of Uncle Ludwig upon our wagon, waving his hat in great arcs, and stole a glance at my father to see if he were upset. His one working eye was closed: he was still praying. The other, ajar, glimmered darkly with God.

A single female voice lifted into the air from a nearby barge, singing a hymn of praise. I could not see who sang, but her voice was frayed and earnest and pained.

‘Commit whatever grieves thee, into the gracious hands of Him who never leaves thee . . .’

Other voices joined hers, smoothing the faltering notes.

‘Who Heaven and earth commands, who points the clouds their courses, whom winds and waves obey . . .’

Everyone joined in and song soared about me. Tears flowed down my cheeks. I pulled my hand from my brother’s and opened my throat and sang as loud as I could, as though I were pouring myself out into the air, as though I were making an offering of myself at an altar of sky.

‘He will direct thy footsteps and find for thee a way.’

I felt the purity of my voice before I heard it, was aware of faces turning and looking approvingly at me. I sang as though my voice were a ribbon, as though it were something I might later find my way home by.