Devotion

My father spent the following day directing men on how best to repair the berths, growing increasingly frustrated as the hours passed. Matthias explained to me that it was proving useless.

‘Papa thinks the ship was not intended to carry emigrants: the berths have just been cobbled together without thought as to how they might bear the weight of sleeping men.’

After prayers at last light, the elders crowded around Dr Meissner and demanded a solution be found. Few wanted to risk nights atop a berth that might suddenly give way, and those who said they would not mind were soon drowned out by those who possessed the lower beds.

‘I will not be squashed in my sleep!’ exclaimed Gottfried Fr?hlich.

‘Yes, lives will be endangered,’ agreed Papa.

Dr Meissner seemed at a loss as to what might be done. Eventually he admitted that some of the men would have to take turns sleeping on deck amongst the barrels and packing cases.

‘And what if the weather is bad?’ asked Christian Pasche.

‘If the waves are so large as to risk washing you overboard, of course you may return below,’ replied the doctor.

‘And sleep where?’

The doctor pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. ‘I imagine if the waves are that large, no one will be sleeping.’

Papa watched as the doctor climbed through the hatchway, returning to his better quarters, then placed a large hand on Elder Pasche’s shoulder. ‘Come, Christian. Let us manage our own affairs.’ He beckoned to the other men from Kay, and together they sat at the table with the passenger list, discussing the best way to divide the available space amongst the families.

I sat upright in the lower bunk, injured foot in front of me, Hermine on my lap. Matthias appeared and handed me a mug of water. ‘I’ve volunteered to sleep on deck,’ he said. ‘I’ll rotate with Traugott Geschke.’

I took a sip. ‘Where will you sleep when he is taking his turn above?’

‘In the stern with the unmarried men,’ Matthias said. ‘Papa and Christian decided that men with families have first right to a berth.’ He smiled when I pulled a face. ‘I don’t mind. I can pretend I am a sailor. Hans and Hermann Pasche will be there too. Daniel and Rudolph Simmel.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Hans is over the moon to get away from his father.’

‘Where will Papa sleep?’

Matthias took the empty mug from me. ‘With Mama and Hermine.’

I frowned. ‘But if Papa is sleeping in this berth, where will I go?’ For an instant I imagined that this meant I, too, would be sent to sleep under the stars, and I felt a surge of excitement at the thought. All that light humming down around me.

‘The bow.’

‘What?’

‘The front of the ship. With the unmarried women.’ Matthias reached for Hermine. ‘There is room there.’

‘Oh.’

He gave me an inscrutable smile. ‘Perhaps you will bunk with Thea.’


Belongings were once more gone through, separated out. Hans shot me a gleeful look as he dragged his mattress through the walkway, ready for his night’s sleep above. I almost envied the boys. Returning below deck after services, the smell of the past few days’ sickness had hit me with such force I gagged. What with the catastrophe of the collapsed bunks and their attempted repair, there had been no opportunity to clean the floors of the sour messes in corners. The captain had assured Papa that seasickness did not usually persist for longer than a few days, and that we would all soon be a great deal more comfortable. It was intolerable to imagine otherwise.

Mama, still peakish, sorted my clothing from hers, wished me a good night and delivered me, limping, to a glint-eyed Mutter Scheck. As soon as I stepped into the bow, she whisked the curtain shut behind me.

‘You have a rather unwell friend here,’ she said, taking me by the shoulder. ‘I thought you might jolly her up. Christiana tells me you two are inseparable.’

‘Christiana’s here?’

Mutter dropped her voice. ‘Poor thing. She hasn’t stopped crying. But Elizabeth is in glory now. She suffers no longer.’

The floorboards suddenly lifted under our feet. Mutter Scheck steadied herself, then continued forwards. There seemed to be not a touch of illness about her.

‘We’re a little crowded. Christiana and yourself are here now. Amalie, of course. Elsa Pfeiffer. And a few more girls you won’t know, from Klemzig and Tschicherzig. You’ll meet them in the morning. I encourage an early bedtime. Easier to bear all this rolling if you’re asleep. Of course, if you must lie awake and groan, it would be best if you could do it quietly. Water closet is there. Mind the entryway.’ She grimaced. ‘Ottilie did not quite make it. We’ve some cleaning to do.’

I made out several sleeping forms. Blankets thrown over heads. A pale foot sticking out into the walkway.

Mutter Scheck directed me to a berth farthest from the curtain. ‘Here you are then. Sleep well. Mind you don’t upset that.’ She pointed to a slop pail, smelling evilly, swinging on a hook at the outer post, then turned and lurched back to her own bunk near the curtain.

I placed my bag under the berth, then looked in. Thea lay against the dividing rail on her back, eyes shut, one hand gripping the wood, the other arm flung across the mattress.

‘Thea?’

Nothing. She was sleeping. Kicking off my clogs I crawled in and, gently moving her arm to her side, lay down beside her. She twitched in her sleep. I gripped the side of the mattress to stop myself from tipping towards her with the movement of the ship, and listened to Mutter Scheck’s bedside prayers, the squeak of metal as the lamp was put out. I blinked back the sudden darkness.

My stomach felt tight. I told myself it was because I had not yet become used to the close air beneath decks and the heat of so many bodies in a small space, that I was still afflicted with seasickness. I told myself it would pass and lay still, anxious to remain on my side of the bunk, my body bracing every time the ship lifted, plunged. I did not know how to lie so close to Thea. I did not understand my own agitation.

Hours passed. The ship creaked. There was the sound of laughter from the main body of berths. Someone shushed. I heard the drip of water as the dipper was lifted, the muffled knocking as it was dropped back against the side of the drinking barrel. Sobbing came from a few bunks over. Christiana, I thought. My muscles began to tremble from the exertion of holding myself to the edge of the bed and at last, exhausted, I gave in, and let myself roll against Thea.

She stirred and I felt her lift her arm and place it around me. The weight of it was a balm.


‘Hanne?’

Thea was lying on her side, head in the crook of her elbow. I blinked hard, could just make out her face in the low, swinging safety light of the hatchway. It was still night. My pillow was damp. I didn’t remember falling asleep.

‘What?’

‘You were crying.’

‘Oh.’ I heard Mutter Scheck cough and turn over in her berth. ‘Maybe I was dreaming.’

Thea reached out. I felt the gentle touch of her thumb on my cheek. ‘Your face is wet.’

I pulled away, felt the beam dividing our berth press against the back of my head. ‘Did I wake you?’

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