In a moment Johannes swung himself out of the berth and stood, his knees full of stiffness. He held up the blanket and saw his wife sitting up, her elbow propped beneath her for support.
"How is it, Maria?" he asked.
She swept her tangled hair from her face with her left hand and drew it back behind her ears.
"Good," she said. "I feel better. And you?"
Johannes saw a slight smile, warm like a summer morning, break from the unfamiliar creases that lined her face. But she was still beautiful. Two weeks on board had robbed her face of its youthful sheen, but her blue eyes, glazed by sickness during the storm, were now bright and clear. The baby, Geesje, turned slowly in her sleep, her mouth puckering as if she were already nursing.
He ran his fingers through his hair and smiled at his wife. "I will go up to see what is happening here."
The ocean was still, the sky broadly blue, and the deck as full of activity as it had been during the fury of the storm. But Johannes knew that it was not yesterday. A long box of firearms stood opened on the deck and multi-colored flags festooned the rigging. Crew and passengers alike were firing round after round, hooting and shrieking. One by one the passengers had left their berths and were joining the fest. Some of his friends were standing amidship, watching and laughing. He hesitated momentarily, then walked quickly over to join them.
"What is it?" he asked.
Johannes enjoyed the spectacle, but unlike the Germans who participated more readily, the Hollanders were reticent; they stood apart, laughing and joking with each other for the first time in days.
He ran back to the stairs and descended in a flurry, rushing to his berth, where he found the canvas open and Geesje awake and nursing, Maria lying comfortably on her side.
"It is the American Day of Independence, Maria. You should come above."
"What is that though?"
"Independence--the Americans celebrate every year today, July the Fourth. Something about their War of Independence."
Maria's smile changed into a hesitant laugh, as her brows hunched in confusion. "So they shoot off guns?"
Geesje was unwilling to give up her mother's breast, but she turned her blue eyes toward her father. He shrugged his shoulders. He didn't understand either, then he turned back toward the stairway.
By the time Johannes had returned to the deck, his Dutch friends were shooting and laughing and dancing like the rest.
The morning passed quickly, full of the gleeful charm of a new and unexpected holiday, celebrated by adopted children only beginning to sense the ardor of a changing life. By noon everyone was on deck, even those who had suffered most during the storm, and all were served from a roasted pig the crew prepared specially for the holiday. The Hollanders watched the men hoist their tankards and sing lusty songs.
Maria approached her husband soon after their dinner. The men sat like birds in a circle, the women also together.
"Johannes," she said quietly over his shoulder, unwilling to break the spirited mood of the conversation. "Johannes, we thought we might like to sing to God a bit--the psalms. The women said."
He looked up at his wife. Her eyes were shining from a face flushed with pink. The rest of the Dutch women sat behind her. He paused only momentarily before moving from the circle and running toward the chartroom to look for the captain, a burly man with skin as weathered as the boards on his ship.
________________________
Tomorrow: Celebrating freedom in a new world--the end of the story.
No comments:
Post a Comment