Devotion(74)

‘Mama, you’re scaring me,’ Thea was saying.

‘Anna Maria, we do not have that option. Our livelihood is tied with our congregation. It is the only means we might be assured of land. Of credit.’

‘Shh,’ whispered Anna Maria. She jerked her head around, eyes searching the darkness.

‘If they go to the pastor –’

‘What was that?’ she whispered.

‘What?’

‘Augusta, is that you?’

‘Mama, Augusta is asleep.’ Thea sounded tired.

‘Someone has come in.’

‘It’s the wind. This place is a desert.’ Friedrich’s voice, low and soft.

‘No . . .’ Anna Maria lifted herself up onto her knees and peered in my direction. ‘I saw something come in.’

‘Liebling, it’s late. We’re all exhausted.’

‘Maybe it was an animal.’

I could see the whites of Friedrich’s eyes as he rummaged tentatively amongst the canvas bags, the opened trunk. ‘There’s nothing, Anna Maria.’

Anna Maria did not say anything, but I could hear her breathing, feel her eyes searching the dark. ‘Lord protect us,’ she whispered. ‘I saw something.’

‘It’s me, Hanne.’ My voice sounded strange. ‘You don’t need to be afraid.’

‘You have it safe, don’t you, Thea? You packed it.’

Thea’s voice was tense. ‘It’s swaddled in a sheet. In the bag.’

Friedrich placed a steadying hand on his wife’s shoulder. ‘Come now, get some sleep. We’ll talk about it in the morning.’

Thea and her father settled themselves, their breathing deepening into sleep within minutes, but for hours into the night the Wend lay awake, eyes searching the corner of the tent where I sat.


While on the Kristi I had heard one of the sailors refer to the harbour as Port Misery, and when I left the Eichenwalds sleeping the next morning and stepped out into bald daylight, I understood why. Stagnant waters lurked around mudflats that varied from mire to grey banks scorched and cracked from a hard sun. The tide had deserted the place, and I could see the Kristi stranded in low water some distance away, the trickle creeping in from the river at the harbour mouth doing little to alleviate the reek of its stagnancy.

It was already very warm. At the sound of a cough I looked across the lane to see Elder Fr?hlich relieving himself against the trunk of a small, harassed tree. He was sweating hard, rivulets running down his neck and his shirt damp at his back. Passengers were emerging from the squalid little canvas tents, looking about for a place to wash or fuel to cook with. I saw Mama duck out a few tents down, holding Hermine on her hip, her ship’s mug in hand. Papa followed her.

‘The remainder of the surplus provisions ought to be here by afternoon,’ Papa was saying to Matthias, who stepped out behind him. ‘We must see to it that they are equally distributed. Remember, the doctor gave some families more rations than others. We must see all is made equal and right.’

‘Did he keep a list?’

‘Who knows? We shall speak to everyone. Learn who received their full allocations of fish and bacon.’

‘People may lie.’

‘Then the sin is on them.’

I followed as Matthias and Papa walked down the dunes, feet sinking into the sand. ‘Captain Olsen said we might expect Pastor Flügel today. He sent for him at Holdfast Bay. Praise God! He will be able to tell us more.’ Papa paused at the edge of the marsh, wrinkling his nose at the stink of the flats, then bent down, scooped a handful of water to rinse his mouth, and spat. ‘Has anyone found fresh water here?’

‘There is none,’ Matthias said. ‘Apparently it is all brought by bullock from the river in the town.’

‘Adelheid.’ Papa scooped another handful of water and washed his face with both hands. He stood a moment, beard dripping. ‘Go see if the water barrels were brought ashore yesterday, Matthias. People will be thirsty. They will want to wash the journey from them. Especially once they learn that we may be reunited with our pastor.’


The congregation immediately found new zeal and energy at the news of Flügel’s expected arrival. I watched as women scrubbed their faces in the filmy waters at the edge of the mud, and Daniel’s scissors were passed amongst the men so that beards might be trimmed, nose hairs and runaway eyebrows tidied.

As soon as the travelling party was sighted coming from the Adelaide road, the passengers gathered together in the sun and, swatting the flies from their open mouths, sang one of Pastor Flügel’s favourite hymns, ‘Nun danket alle Gott’. I sat in the shade cast by the shanty houses opposite the tents and watched the pastor arrive like Jesus into Jerusalem. Even though I felt brittle and bitter, believing myself to be deserted by the God they were all thanking, I could not help but marvel at the reunion. The last time the congregation had sung with Flügel, the church in Kay had still had its bell and Gottlob had been alive. Now here they were, on the other side of the world, sweating into their heavy clothes under a sky so wide and blue it seemed to devour the earth.

The elders helped Flügel off his horse and there was a great cheer as his boots touched the ground. Flügel lifted his arms up in praise and invited everyone to pray. ‘The Lord is great, His mercies have no bounds. Blessed be His holy name!’