progress of the Mennonite mothers, knowing they must share her fear.
None of the adults among the passing Mennonites turned their heads toward Verona and Jakob, and when one of their children smiled at her, a hand reached out and redirected his gaze.
Verona sighed. Perhaps Jakob was right. Perhaps it was just as well. Twenty-one Amish families boarded the
Charming Nancy
along with the Mennonites. It was enough of a burden to bear the loss of Amish passengers. She was not sure she had room in her heart for the others. She supposed that not speaking to each other was one way of living peaceably together, at least for the weeks on the ocean.
“I’d better go check on Christian,” Verona said, “and Lisbetli should be waking from her nap.”
Jakob nodded. “I see Hans Zimmerman at the end of the deck. I want to speak to him. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
Verona watched her husband stroll across the deck, his dark red hair showing the extra inches of the journey. She would have to trim it soon. When he greeted his friend, she turned her attention to the immediate task. Glancing into the opening she had sent her daughters down a few minutes ago, she gathered her dark skirt in one hand. With the other she gripped the railing that would guide her way down the ladder.
Though the Beyelers were a family of seven, they had only two berths, meant to hold a total of four people. Other families did the same. Some of the children were still small, so Verona wasted little energy feeling sorry for their lack of space. What meager belongings not in barrels in the cargo hold were crammed under the bottom berth—clothing, a few eating utensils, cloths for washing up in scarce freshwater.
Jakob was right, as he always was. The life that lay ahead held so much more potential than what they had left behind. They would miss their families, of course, but no one had suggested they should not go to Pennsylvania, a land of wide-open opportunity for anyone willing to work hard. She would be glad to be in the new Amish settlement, away from the threats that pursued the true believers in Europe.
At least their berths were curtained off with quilts, reminders of their families. The quilts offered some sense of privacy, though the makeshift separations did little to muffle the moaning of the sick or the impatient speech of a weary parent. Neither did they disguise the smells of hundreds of passengers packed into close quarters.
Verona brushed the heads of Anna and Maria, who sat on the floor with a handful of pebbles their only toys. Their prayer
kapps
were missing—again. She cringed at the thought of the scum beneath her daughters and promised herself she would sweep the floor around the family’s bunks again before the day was over. Pushing aside the quilt hanging on the upper berth, she found Barbara, fourteen, sitting cross-legged at one end of the compartment, while Christian, eight, sprawled across most of the space.
His eyes were open, which made Verona’s mouth drop open in relief.
“He’s been talking a little bit.” Barbara twisted the ties of her
kapp
in the fingers of one hand. “I gave him a few sips of water. I don’t think he’s as hot as he was.”
Verona laid a hand against her only son’s cheek and agreed with her eldest daughter’s assessment. “Maybe we’ll try a little broth for supper,” she said, searching Christian’s face for further confirmation of his recovery. He nodded just enough to give encouragement.
Lisbetli squawked from the lower berth. Anna jumped up from the floor and peeked behind the quilt. “She’s awake.”
Verona hoped Lisbetli would celebrate her second birthday on their new homestead. She smiled at the toddler, who should have been scooting across the berth determined to get down but was instead lying listless, glistening. Verona scooped her up and kissed her ruddy cheek. Was it warm, or was it her imagination?
Maria popped up and tickled the baby’s feet. “
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