Devotion(52)

Mama had not spent much time with me in the bow, except to hand over or collect Hermine, but after Ottilie and Helbig died, she started taking me aside after prayers on deck, asking how I was, how the other women in the bow were feeling. One afternoon, having spent the whole day in bed, I looked up and saw her standing at the bottom of my berth.

‘Anna Maria told me you did not eat breakfast,’ she said, gripping the empty upper bunk to steady herself.

I had not realised the Wend had been keeping my mother apprised of my wellbeing, and I wondered whether my mother shared Magdalena’s opinions or whether Hermine’s birth had convinced her of Anna Maria’s skill.

‘I’m just resting,’ I told her. ‘My ankle hurts.’ The sea had grown thuggish since midnight and by morning the ship had been pitching with new violence. I had fallen against the side of the trestle when the ship plunged, spraining my ankle and slamming my shins so hard against the bench that I was convinced I had broken bone. The skin had already darkened to a mottled plum.

Mama leaned towards me and placed a hand on my forehead. I noticed her eyes flick to the unwell in their bunks.

‘Truly, I am fine. It is just my ankle. I tripped, earlier.’

‘No headaches? No pains in your stomach? You feel warm. Where is Thea?’

I shook my head. ‘With her mother in the kitchen galley. How is Papa?’

My mother sat down on the berth and smoothed the blankets. ‘Your father is stalwart.’

‘And Matthias?’

‘I have heard he is having a wonderful time being drenched upon deck. He has turned quite wild with the adventure.’

I smiled, but I could see that Mama was worried. She looked back at the hatchway, visible at the side of the half-opened curtain. Sea water was washing down the stairs.

‘He will come down if it gets worse than this?’ I asked.

She nodded. ‘People are talking of lashing themselves to their bunks.’

As if in response to this, the ship lurched and we grabbed each other.

‘God in Heaven.’

Mama glanced back at the hatch. ‘We shall be swimming soon. All this water.’

‘Mama, you’re hurting me.’

‘What?’

‘My arms.’

‘Oh.’ Mama let go, then lay down beside me. The ship plummeted and she closed her eyes. It was dark below decks, on account of the bad weather, but I could still see that the journey had thinned her face. It made her beauty a little harder, a little more jarring. I let my eyes fill with her, my mother, dark gem.

‘You are happy here with the other girls?’ She spoke without opening her eyes.

‘I am teaching Thea whitework. On calmer days, when we can hold a needle without the threat of taking out our eyes.’

‘Mutter Scheck takes good care of you?’

‘Yes.’

Mama opened her eyes and, taking my chin in her fingers, turned my face to hers.

‘What is it?’ I braced myself for warning. For criticism.

Her eyes looked black in the low light. Her gaze unnerved me.

‘What?’

‘I thank God for you,’ she said softly, more to herself than to me.

At that moment there was a cry from the hatchway. Both of us lifted our heads and saw that two people lay on the floor, water washing around them.

Mama sat up. ‘Oh no, it’s Elize,’ she said, and before I could respond she pulled herself out of the berth and rushed towards the main quarters, even as the ship tipped and sent her stumbling sideways through the curtain. She was gone.


Thea came into the bow after the lamps had been extinguished. I heard her stagger along the berths then crawl onto our mattress. I lifted the blanket and she lay down next to me.

‘Your feet are wet,’ I whispered.

‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t be. Here.’ I moved closer and placed my own feet over hers to warm them. ‘Better?’

‘Mm.’

‘What hour is it?’

‘Midnight.’

‘Where have you been? I thought you were in the kitchens.’

‘I was. Mama needed someone to try to keep the fire going in all this swell,’ Thea said. ‘But then Elize fell.’

‘I know. How is she?’

‘Georg Pasche fell down the hatch ladder and landed on her as she was walking to the water closet. Georg is fine, but Elize went into labour.’

‘She’s not at term.’

‘Five months.’ I felt Thea’s fingers move absently over the inside of my arm. ‘Reinhardt came and found Mama in the kitchens and I went with her to help. That’s why I was gone for so long. I helped her deliver the baby.’

‘Oh. Thea . . .’

Thea’s voice was small in the darkness. ‘Elize can hold her in one hand. I’ve never seen . . .’

‘She’s alive? She had a girl?’

Thea nodded. ‘But she’s so small, Hanne,’ she whispered. ‘I left. Mama and I left, so Elize and Reinhardt . . .’ She could not finish the sentence. I wrapped my arm about her and she cried into my shoulder.


Reinhardt and Elize named their daughter Esther, for Elize’s mother. We learned the next morning that Traugott had christened her minutes before she died. She had lived a full half-hour. The brick they used to weight the shroud was larger than her body.