“Mistress Jabben is expecting Mistress Sheldrake to join her in the hall, Mistress Blanche—” Doreen was getting bolder by the day.
Ignoring Doreen, I turned to the cook. “Thank you, Blanche.” My gratitude was in my smile. “That would be perfect.” Avoiding Doreen’s pursed lips and cold stare, I scurried through the hall before Hiske, who was sitting at the far end, close to the hearth, saw me. Thrusting aside my dignity, I bunched my tunic and shot up the stairs two at a time.
Walking through Tobias’s old room, I threw aside the curtain that divided our chambers and flung my cloak and hood across the chest that held my clothes and other belongings. Though I could have taken down the curtain and adopted my brother’s room as my own, giving myself more space, I’d chosen to maintain what I’d always had and keep Tobias’s bedroom as it was. Hiske disapproved, saying shrines were for God only and I was making a false idol of my brother. I wasn’t so foolish. Content with what I had, I was also happy knowing that Tobias had a place to lay his head should he ever require one.
I opened the shutters, and ashen light poured in, along with a cold draft tinted with more rain. Stripping off my tunic and kirtle, I stood shivering in my underclothes and undid my braid. Lifting a used drying sheet from the small table abutting my bed, I quickly toweled my body and then focused on my hair, ears pricked for sound—for Hiske. How ridiculous that, at my age, I snuck about the house like a thief in the night.
Blanche was true to her promise, and the kitchen maid, Iris, arrived with a bowl of steaming water and a fresh drying sheet, taking away my used one. Minutes later, she reappeared with a tray holding a trencher of bread, a lump of yellow cheese, and a small beaker of ale. Curtsying, she left me to tend myself as was my wont.
Washed and dressed in a clean, dry kirtle and tunic, my hair tidied, I was picking at the cheese when I heard the clatter of boots and loud whispers. Karel and Betje burst through the curtain, followed by their apologetic nurse, Louisa.
“Anneke!” they squealed, as if they hadn’t seen me the night before. Dropping to my knees, I hugged them fiercely, inhaling scents of rosewater and lavender. Holding first Betje, then Karel, at arm’s length, admiring their sturdy arms and legs, pink cheeks, and gapped teeth, I released them and stood, laughing. How could anyone be gloomy with these two around? Sinking onto the window seat, I watched them taunt Louisa, who tried and failed to prevent Karel jumping on the bed. Giving up, she attempted to tame Betje’s hair. A riot of silvery curls, it refused to remain in the plaits Louisa insisted upon weaving.
“Anneke, tell Betje,” said Karel, almost falling off the bed, waving his arms in circles to regain his balance. “Tell Betje . . .” he tried again, then gave up trying to talk and bounce at the same time and instead sat heavily on the end of the mattress, swinging his legs. His energy was something palpable, infectious. “Papa’s coming home today, isn’t he?”
“And Tobias,” added Betje, twisting toward her brother, exclaiming when her hair was pulled. “Don’t forget him. You always leave him out.”
“I do not!”
“You do so. Just because he doesn’t live here doesn’t mean we shouldn’t worry about him as well.” Betje glared at Karel then spun back, rubbing her head. “Is it today, Anneke?” Betje’s large gray eyes alighted on mine, her little brow puckered. “Will Papa be coming home?”
Louisa and I exchanged a look.
“Perhaps,” I answered cautiously. “Now remain still and let Louisa finish,” I admonished gently, cupping her cheeks briefly.
“Perhaps! You said that yesterday.” Karel pouted.
“And the day before,” added Betje.
“And perhaps I will say it tomorrow.” They both groaned. “The fact is, I don’t know.” I shrugged, affecting a lightness I didn’t feel. “No one does.” I sat back down and looked outside. A squall rattled the panes. The trees in the churchyard next door were buffeted by winds, stubborn autumn leaves clinging to the branches. They looked like hungry fingers reaching, grasping . . . I stared beyond the garden wall, past the church, the road, toward the wide, white-capped bay and into the vast ashen void. Somewhere across that raging sea were the Netherlands, Flanders, Rotterdam, Ghent, and my mother’s home, Maastricht, and all the places Father sailed, as did Tobias with his master. I imagined Father looking back at me, frowning, his thin lips disappearing as he prepared to scold me for allowing emotions to govern common sense. They voyaged in this kind of weather all the time, a trader’s life was built on risk, he would remind me—and not only those offered by the oceans.
But this time is different . . . They should be home by now . . . Papa, at least . . . I bit my lip. As for Tobias, he belonged to another family now, called another place home. It didn’t stop me claiming him still or, as Betje said, any of us worrying.
Betje climbed onto my lap. I shifted to accommodate her and wrapped my arms around her tightly.
Snuggling against my breast, she tilted her head back. “We won’t be able to do this anymore once Papa is home, will we?”
“We’ll have to stay in the nursery again, won’t we?” said Karel quietly from the bed, staring at the toe of his boot.
“We won’t, my sweetlings, and,” I said softly to Karel, “you will. Papa is a very busy man. He doesn’t like to be disturbed.”
“But we want to disturb you, not him,” said Karel.
I bit back a smile.
“Papa doesn’t like a lot of things,” said Betje, with the innocence of childish observation. She stared out the window.
No one replied.
“The sky is angry,” she said in an awed voice. “That means God is as well, doesn’t it?”
I followed her gaze and it struck me, as the rain fell, steady enough to form rivulets on the thick glass, that if God was expressing any emotion, it was sadness. I kissed the top of Betje’s head, preparing a reassurance, when something attracted my attention.
Betje saw it too. “Look!” She sat up and pointed. “There’s a rider.”
The messenger tore by the church walls, his slender mare churning the road. With a lurch, I recognized the livery and wondered what was so important he should be abroad on such a day.
Karel bolted from the bed and squeezed beside us. “Where?” he demanded, his head swiveling until he spotted him. “Look, there’s someone else with him as well. They’re stopping. Right outside our house!” He pressed his face against the window, the glass turning opaque where his breath struck.
“Let me see,” complained Betje, trying to shove her brother out of the way.
Karel was right. The men talked urgently, walking their horses toward the front of the house.
“Oh my,” added Louisa from behind. “Mistress—” Apprehension inflected her tone.
I rose, lifting Betje from my lap, eyes fixed on the figure tethering his horse, waiting for the black-robed gentleman beside him to dismount before they strode out of sight. “Louisa, take the children back to the nursery, would you?”
“But Anneke . . .” they chorused.
“Come now,” said Louisa, authoritarian. “You heard what your sister said. Out with you.”