“There is it, my little one. America!” Papa whispered hoarsely through wind that whipped his blond hair above his collar. He hugged her to his side and pointed across the water.
Anna gripped the ship’s railing and gazed through frigid air where mist rose to reveal a shadow of land in the distance. The scents of grasses, fresh water streams, and rich earth seemed to carry up like a faint vapor above the salty sea. What would it be like to have her feet on dry land again? She tried to imagine the trees and flowers, the cobblestone streets and houses, wondering how much they’d resemble Holland.
“There was your mother born long ago.”
“Why are you speaking English, Papa?”
“I told you, when on America we arrive we must speak English. So, now we begin.”
Anna giggled.
He squeezed her close. “It were many years since I’ve used these words. Too many,” he added with a shake of his head. “For this day on we speak English. The language of your mother.”
“Ya, Papa.” Even though she’d studied English, the thought of not speaking Dutch seemed strange to her.
“You are smart girl. You receive good schooling here. I make sure of it.”
Sails whipped in the wind above their heads, and she huddled close to her papa.
He coughed into his kerchief, his breath evaporating into the crisp air.
“Maybe we should go below deck, Papa? De wind blows strong.” Her tongue stumbled in her mouth every time she tried to hiss a “th” sound past her teeth. She’d struggled with it since trying to learn the language, and she hoped now that she was in America and surrounded by English, she’d master it.
“No, we are staying here. I dream of this moment for long time. We live in Denver City. Near the beautiful Rocky Mountains.” He sighed. “You never saw mountains like in Colorado Territory. We raise cattle. I plan it all.”
Anna grinned. They’d had countless conversations about their plans. She hugged him tighter at the thought of finally nearing their dreams.
“The Lord bring us so far.”
Anna nodded, knowing full well they were spoiled by God. He always looked out for them. And she had no doubt He’d make their dreams come true. Despite never knowing her mother, Anna didn’t feel like anything was missing in her life. She had everything she needed. As her father said many times, God always looked out for them.
“Mr. van Stralen,” Mariska’s voice called from behind them in Dutch. Anna’s nanny pulled her heavy cloak closed against the breeze. “Would you like me to take Anna below deck?”
“No, that’s not will be necessary.” He waved her away. “This is special moments with my daughter.”
Anna nestled under his arm for warmth. Speaking the new language felt like a game. She giggled.
“It’s a bad time in the East,” another passenger bellowed in Dutch to his friends as they walked by. “The North and South are still at war.”
Concern clenched Anna’s heart as the word “war” sank into her mind, dashing dreams of a new, happy life. She vaguely remembered hearing about the war before they left Holland.
“Be not afraid, little one. We not worry about that. The Lord protect us. Besides, we be far away from the fighting and death. We go west. To American frontier. Denver City. That is where we belong.” His sky-blue eyes gazed out over the sea. “That is where we belong.”
~*~
Three weeks later and still in New York, Anna sat alone in the quiet hall of their rented, furnished townhouse. The large clock thrummed half past the hour, and she worried that each passing moment was one moment closer to her father’s death. Each tick of the clock like a drop of water from a leaky faucet: drip . . . drip . . . drip. Each droplet, a draining of life. If only the incessant sound would stop. Wringing her hands to keep them from covering her ears, she stared through the banister at the Christmas tree in the parlor below.
Red ribbons and white popcorn draped around its greenery. Earlier that day Mrs. Stone, her father’s lawyer’s wife, had come to help Anna and her nanny decorate its branches. An effort to cheer her spirits. But Anna felt anything but cheerful. This would be the worst Christmas ever.
“Let him live, God. Please, let him live.” She folded her hands until her knuckles turned white. “You made all those people in the Bible better, so I know You can make Papa well too.” Yes. That was it. Jesus healed so many. He would heal Papa.
She sighed with relief, and her gaze fell on a newspaper lying on a small table next to her chair. The Dutch name Wynkoop caught her eye. Hands still folded, she leaned closer. It was page one of the New York Tribune where a Major Wynkoop told about his encounters with Indians in Colorado Territory. Her interest piqued as she read the words. Though they were in English, she was pleased she understood most of them. It’d always been easier for her to read the language than to actually speak it.
She became caught up in the story as she read about Colonel John M. Chivington, who led a surprise attack killing Cheyenne and Arapaho Indians. Hundreds of women and children had been murdered. She couldn’t imagine anything more horrible.
Those poor people. How could anyone be so cruel? Her father had nothing but good to say about the Indians he’d met along the Arkansas River. They had treated him with kindness and let him stay in their tent-like homes. Why would anyone want to kill them?
Indians.
She’d come to a land where Indians roamed. What did they really look like? Her father talked about them, had even described them in his stories about his long-ago travels to the West. It fascinated her to read about Denver City where she and her father would begin a new future. They were so near to their dream, and yet so far.
No, he wouldn’t die. He couldn’t die! They had to go to Denver to fulfill their dream.
“You may see him now.” The doctor’s voice carried down the quiet hall from her father’s room.
Anna slid off the chair, bringing the paper with her. Perhaps reading about the West would help boost his spirits and make him well again? She’d try anything at this point. They’d been in New York much longer than planned.
When she entered the room, she walked slowly to his bedside and kissed his cheek. “I bring something for you, Papa.” She spoke in English, remembering their promise. She held up the paper for him and pointed at the familiar Dutch name.
“Wynkoop?” Her father coughed then slowly turned his weakened gaze toward her. “As much as I’d like to, I can’t read this right now.” To her surprise and worry, he spoke Dutch.
Anna placed the paper on the nightstand. “I understand, Papa. You can read it later.”
She straightened, trying to ignore how he’d changed in appearance just since their arrival in New York, his cheekbones more prominent, his skin pale, and his eyes surrounded by dark circles.
“Little one, I don’t know,” he paused as coughs racked through his body, “any other way to say this.”
“Then don’t say it.” She shook her head and her throat tightened. “Please, don’t say it, Papa. We’re going to Denver City.” She smiled even though tears burned her eyes. “You need to get better so we can go.”
“I’m dying.”
His words struck her like the Vesta plunging into the waves, only this time, the ship sank beneath them, and the cold water swallowed her and the ship whole. Not daring to breathe, for fear she might release a wail as she drown, she stared for a long time at the lacy curtains draped over the window. Beautiful dreams, all fading away with the sun. She swallowed hard, widening her eyes to keep from crying, but she felt the betrayal of a tear as it trickled down her