you say the men here in Amsterdam are. He's not fat—at least, he wasn't when I knew him four years ago. He took a wife to Batavia with him, but she died soon after he built the house. The poor man's been all alone since." As Romell opened her mouth, Greta held up a hand. "No, he doesn't want you to look after his children. He has none."
Romell shook her head.
"Don't decide now, think about it."
To her surprise, Romell found herself turning the idea over in her mind during the next week. Without Pieter, she had no one to talk to, no one her age, and Greta made no effort to introduce her to anyone else.
I wonder what Java is like? Romell mused one morning as she helped Halva knead bread dough. The Roosevelt sisters were able to afford only Alsie, a servant almost as old as they were, so Romell and her cousins did the cooking.
"Tonight, we will have hutspot , mixed pot," Halva said. "You must learn how it's done if you are to be a proper Dutch wife."
" Hutspot is a kind of stew," Romell said. "I can cook stew."
"But ours has a history. Have you been told of the seige of Leiden?"
Romell shook her head. All she knew of Leiden was that the city was in Holland.
"Of course we serve hutspot many other days," Halva went on, "But every true Dutchman eats the stew on October third," She sighed, "If you do marry Mijnheer van der Pol, you may be gone from us by then, and it’s only weeks away. We shall never see you again, just like Annaleis, your dear mother."
"I have no plans to leave Amsterdam, Cousin Halva. I wish you would tell me about my mother—did she live here? "
"She stayed with us one summer when she was twelve. Such a pretty girl, with her flaxen hair and her big brown eyes. I taught her to make hutspot too. I remember her saying she wished she lived in those days, back in 1574 when the Spanish besieged Leiden. “I would have helped William the Silent cut the dikes and flood out the Spanish,” Annaleis told me. Halva shook her head. She wouldn’t have, of course. Although she might have been the youngster who explored the deserted enemy camp and found the starving Leidener’s salvation—a big copper pot of beef, potatoes, carrots and onions still simmering over a fire. Hutspot . So we serve it every year on that day, on October third."
"Yes, I understand," Romell said, "But my mother—was she really as brave as she sounds?"
"Brave enough to cross the Atlantic Ocean with your father to a strange and unsettled country. Halva smiled wistfully and her hands stopped moving in the bread dough. "It was plain to see they were very much in love with each other."
Romell’s throat tightened. I don’t want to miss loving a man, she thought. I don’t want to get old and regret never marrying.
When Pieter came to pay his last visit, Romell was almost eager to see him.
"I'll never forget you," Pieter said, pressing a small rectangle wrapped in green silk into her hands.
"Of course you will. Think of all the excitement of a new land. The East Indies sound so different from Amsterdam, like Virginia is different from England. I envy you the chance to go to Batavia."
"If I had the means to ask you to come along—"
"I wouldn't go with you," Romell said quickly. "I meant, I'd like to be sailing for Java on my own—no promises binding me." She sighed. She'd never fit in well in Amsterdam, but where was she to go? And how?
"There's all sorts of people sailing on the Zuiderwind next week," Pieter said. "Even an Englishman. That's a rare sight on a Dutch East Indiaman."
Romell looked up quickly. "Oh? Who is he?"
Pieter shrugged. "A man named Montgomery, that's all I know." He reached to take her hand. "I wish you and I—"
Romell pulled her hand away. Adrien. She hadn't even known he was still in Amsterdam, An image of him in her uncle's great hall, sword in hand, superimposed itself over Pieter.
"Damn!" Pieter exclaimed. "It's hell to be penniless. I won't stay that way, you may be certain of that. Whether
Romell shook her head.
"Don't decide now, think about it."
To her surprise, Romell found herself turning the idea over in her mind during the next week. Without Pieter, she had no one to talk to, no one her age, and Greta made no effort to introduce her to anyone else.
I wonder what Java is like? Romell mused one morning as she helped Halva knead bread dough. The Roosevelt sisters were able to afford only Alsie, a servant almost as old as they were, so Romell and her cousins did the cooking.
"Tonight, we will have hutspot , mixed pot," Halva said. "You must learn how it's done if you are to be a proper Dutch wife."
" Hutspot is a kind of stew," Romell said. "I can cook stew."
"But ours has a history. Have you been told of the seige of Leiden?"
Romell shook her head. All she knew of Leiden was that the city was in Holland.
"Of course we serve hutspot many other days," Halva went on, "But every true Dutchman eats the stew on October third," She sighed, "If you do marry Mijnheer van der Pol, you may be gone from us by then, and it’s only weeks away. We shall never see you again, just like Annaleis, your dear mother."
"I have no plans to leave Amsterdam, Cousin Halva. I wish you would tell me about my mother—did she live here? "
"She stayed with us one summer when she was twelve. Such a pretty girl, with her flaxen hair and her big brown eyes. I taught her to make hutspot too. I remember her saying she wished she lived in those days, back in 1574 when the Spanish besieged Leiden. “I would have helped William the Silent cut the dikes and flood out the Spanish,” Annaleis told me. Halva shook her head. She wouldn’t have, of course. Although she might have been the youngster who explored the deserted enemy camp and found the starving Leidener’s salvation—a big copper pot of beef, potatoes, carrots and onions still simmering over a fire. Hutspot . So we serve it every year on that day, on October third."
"Yes, I understand," Romell said, "But my mother—was she really as brave as she sounds?"
"Brave enough to cross the Atlantic Ocean with your father to a strange and unsettled country. Halva smiled wistfully and her hands stopped moving in the bread dough. "It was plain to see they were very much in love with each other."
Romell’s throat tightened. I don’t want to miss loving a man, she thought. I don’t want to get old and regret never marrying.
When Pieter came to pay his last visit, Romell was almost eager to see him.
"I'll never forget you," Pieter said, pressing a small rectangle wrapped in green silk into her hands.
"Of course you will. Think of all the excitement of a new land. The East Indies sound so different from Amsterdam, like Virginia is different from England. I envy you the chance to go to Batavia."
"If I had the means to ask you to come along—"
"I wouldn't go with you," Romell said quickly. "I meant, I'd like to be sailing for Java on my own—no promises binding me." She sighed. She'd never fit in well in Amsterdam, but where was she to go? And how?
"There's all sorts of people sailing on the Zuiderwind next week," Pieter said. "Even an Englishman. That's a rare sight on a Dutch East Indiaman."
Romell looked up quickly. "Oh? Who is he?"
Pieter shrugged. "A man named Montgomery, that's all I know." He reached to take her hand. "I wish you and I—"
Romell pulled her hand away. Adrien. She hadn't even known he was still in Amsterdam, An image of him in her uncle's great hall, sword in hand, superimposed itself over Pieter.
"Damn!" Pieter exclaimed. "It's hell to be penniless. I won't stay that way, you may be certain of that. Whether
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