Escolar Documentos
Profissional Documentos
Cultura Documentos
Eves Daughters
Waves of Mercy
Hidden Places
Wings of Refuge
Pilgrimage
A Womans Place
A Proper Pursuit
Wonderland Creek
Refiners Fire
Candle in the Darkness
A Light to My Path
Fire by Night
Faith of My Fathers
Song of Redemption
On This Foundation
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Waves of Mercy
LY N N A U S T I N
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Chapter 1
Anna
Lake Michigan
1897
I am living my nightmare. A violent storm has overtaken our steamship, and as we mount high on the crest of a wave one moment,
then plunge sickeningly into a watery trough the next, I am certain
we are about to sink. Everything is happening just as it does in
my nightmarethe one that has haunted my sleep for as long as
I can remember.
Mother and I huddle inside the passenger deck as the wind hurls
rain and waves against the windows. Thunder rumbles and booms
like barrels full of cannonballs rolling downhill. I close my eyes
as daggers of lightning slash the dark horizon. Above the roaring
wind I can barely hear my own whimpers or Mothers voice as
she tries to soothe me.
Shh... Dont cry, Anna.
Im a grown woman of twenty-three, but she tries to calm my
fears the same way she did when I was a child and would awaken
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Father isnt here to save us this time. Were going to sink, and
I dont want to die!
We arent going to sink, darling.
Im not convinced. I recall the very last service I attended at
the Chicago Avenue church, and the sermon topic now seems prophetic. The minister described a sudden storm like this one on the
Sea of Galilee, making the scene as vivid as my nightmare. Jesus
was asleep in a boat and His friends awakened Him, fearing they
were about to sink. Jesus shouted, Peace, be still! and immediately the wind and waves died down. They were saved. Jesus can
calm the storms in your life, too, the minister had said. Then hed
asked, Have you made Jesus your Savior? Is He beside you when
you sail lifes stormy seas? If you died tomorrow, would you go to
heaven? I wanted to rise from my pew at his invitation and walk
down the aisle with the others, but I was afraid. Now, because
of that sermon, Im aboard this ship in a violent storm. William
had forbidden me to go back to that church, and when he found
out I had defied him, he ended our engagement. I left Chicago to
give my broken heart a chance to heal, sailing with my mother to
a lakeside resort on the other side of Lake Michigan. It seems we
will never reach it.
Another clap of thunder booms, and it sounds more distant
now. Everything is going to be all right, Anna, Mother says.
I wonder if shes speaking of the voyage or my shattered heart.
Perhaps both. Open your eyes and see. She untangles our arms,
and I lift my head from where Ive buried it against her pin-tucked
shirtwaist. See, darling? The storm is blowing past us. The sky is
lighter over there. It shouldnt be much longer now, and well be
there. But the shoreline still isnt visible, and the storm-tossed
lake continues to seethe, promising a rough ride to the Hotel Ottawa on the Michigan shore.
This is so much like my nightmare, Mother. Remember? Remember how I used to wake up at night, screaming? I havent
dreamt that I was drowning for a long, long time, but this storm
is bringing it all back. That dream used to feel so real!
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Youre going through a difficult time right now. Its only natural
to be upset.
I loved William and I thought he loved me, but he broke my
heart when he ended our engagement. I press my fist against my
heart and feel it beating like a wounded birds. It still hurts, I say.
I know, darling... I know.
But my mother doesnt know the real reason why William no
longer wants to marry me. It has to do with religion in general
and the church on the corner of Chicago Avenue and LaSalle Street
in particular. I told you I didnt want to hear any more about that
place, Anna, he had shouted. I had never heard William raise his
voice before. I told you to stop going there. Its making you crazy.
I forbade you to go back there, but you defied me!
William believes, as my parents do, that churches are places
to be married and buried, places that Chicagos fine families attend at Christmas and Easter and other special occasions. William
says that flagrant displays of emotion such as those seen at Mr.
Moodys evangelistic rallies and in his Chicago Avenue church
are for the ignorant, immigrant masses, not refined people like
us. Yet something drew me back there, even after William forbade
me to go. The church seemed wonderfully familiar to me, and
the ministers words touched a deep, empty part of my soul, the
part that feels like the photographs Ive seen of Chicago after the
Great Fire with nothing but blackened sections of tottering walls
and lifeless, rubble-strewn streets that stretch for miles and miles.
When I tried to tell William how I felt and why I had gone back,
he ended our engagement. I cant have my wife, the mother of
my children, falling for such nonsense. I wonder if he will mourn
for me when he learns that this ship has sunk and Ive drowned.
The steamship continues to rock and pitch. The view out the
windows is blurred by rain and fogged by our breath on the inside.
I can still feel us climbing to the tops of the waves, then sliding
down the other side again. If Jesus was aboard with me, could He
truly shout, Peace, be still! and calm the seas? William doesnt
believe in miracles.
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to get me off safely as the ship bobs up and down in the choppy
water. Im horrified to have a stranger manhandle me so intimately.
There you go, miss, the man says as my feet touch the ground.
My knees buckle, and he grabs me again as I nearly fall. Whoa!
You all right, miss?
Im fine. I push away his hands. Mother and I squeeze beneath
a single umbrella. The ground moves beneath my feet as I wobble
up the wooden walkway to the main door. I sink into the first
chair I find inside the hotel lobby and wait while Mother attends
to our room keys. It will be very strange to be without our ladys
maid during our stay. Mother wanted to bring Sophia along, but
I insisted that I wanted to be completely alone. We will be wearing casual clothing while were here, freed from our corsets and
obligations, so theres no need to have our dresses laid out or our
hair elaborately pinned. I have no idea what Ill do with myself all
day or how long it will take for my heart to mend.
The porter will show us to our rooms, Mother says when she
returns with him and our room keys. Dinner will still be served
for another hour.
I feel too ill to eat, I tell her. I simply want to change out of
my traveling clothes and lie down.
Our adjoining rooms are in the original hotel building, not the
expanded annex. Theyre small but lovely, and mine has a view of
Black Lake and the City of Holland still moored outside at the
dock. It didnt sink in the storm; Mother and I didnt drown in
Lake Michigan. But as I watch the bobbing ship and the dancing
whitecaps in the distance, I silently vow to travel by train back to
Chicago when its time to leave. Ill never board another ship as
long as I live.
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Chapter 2
Geesje
Holland, Michigan
1897
Would you like a ride home, Geesje? one of the other old-timers
asks me after the meeting ends. People refer to us as the oldtimers because we are the few remaining Dutch settlers who first
came to Michigan from the Netherlands fifty years ago. But I
certainly dont feel old.
No, thank you, Mrs. Kok, I tell her. Its such a lovely summer day, I believe Ill walk. Besides, I need to stop by Van Puttens
Dry Goods on my way home.
Mrs. Kok rests her wrinkled hand on my arm. She seems frail
to me; but then, she must be in her mid-seventies now, nearly ten
years older than me. Are you going to take part in all these parades
and things that theyre planning for the celebration, Geesje? she
asks. It seems like theyre making too much of our towns fiftieth
anniversary, doesnt it? How did those fifty years pass so quickly?
I dont know, I reply, laughing. It doesnt seem that long ago
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me to be. Her father is a minister, and she said they never have time
for their wives and families. I suppose shes right. She broke up
with me about a month ago. Theres been no one else since her.
Im so sorry, Derk. Forgive me for prying.
No, thats all right. Im pretty much over it, he says with a
slow, sad smile. But if youve ever had your heart broken when you
were my age, promise me youll tell me all about it in your book.
I feel my face grow warm. We will have to see about that, I
say. I wont make any promises.
After Derk leaves I feel too restless to sit and knit socks again.
Im eager to begin my story and wish I had the new notebook Jakob
promised. I rummage through my desk, searching for paper, and
find a few sheets of stationery. I also find my daughter Christinas
letter, the last one she ever wrote to me. I dont need to read it. I
know it by heart. She was coming home like the prodigal in Jesus
parable. But unlike him, she never arrived.
I tap the sheets of stationery into a neat stack and search for a
pencil. Then I sit down at my desk and begin to write.
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Chapter 3
Geesjes Story
The City of Leiden, the Netherlands
52 years earlier
On the night of my fifteenth birthday, a huge brick shattered the
window of Papas printing shop and ended my childhood. The
crash awakened me, and when I heard Papa thundering down the
steep, narrow stairs to investigate, I jumped from my bed and followed him. The brick lay in crumbled chunks near the printing
press. Shards of glass were scattered across the floor like pieces
of ice. Nothing remained of the huge window with Papas name
painted on it except a jagged hole that invited the brisk night air
inside. Bricks dont fall from the sky by themselves. Someone had
deliberately thrown it through our window.
Dont come in here, Papa said, shining a lamp all around the
shop. You will cut your feet on the glass.
I want to help you sweep up. I hated the way the broken glass
and ugly pieces of brown brick marred Papas pristine shop floor.
I wanted to put everything right.
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Papas print shop occupied the first floor of our home on Nieuwe
Rijn Street, a ten-minute walk from Leiden University. Leiden is a
beautiful city with centuries-old buildings, brick-paved streets, and
canals that weave through the avenues like vines. I loved to watch
from my bedroom window as flatboats and houseboats floated
past, to hear the hinged wooden drawbridge creak open to let the
masts of sailing ships slip through. Sometimes I would stand by
the edge of the water with my older sisters, Anneke and Geerde,
and feed stale bread to the swans. On market days, we would walk
with Mama along the Nieuwe Rijn all the way to the Stadthuis and
shop along the way at the colorful booths piled high with cheese
and vegetables and flowersalways flowers.
I have been thinking, Geesje, Papa told me at lunch after Id
helped him clean up. I dont think you should walk to your sisters
apartments by yourself anymore.
But they need my help with their little ones. It isnt very far.
Both sisters had married a little more than a year ago, Anneke
first and then Geerde. Now theyd each given birth to a baby boy.
Im sorry. But until we find out who did this and the vandals
are punished, it may not be safe to go out alone. People know that
a family of Separatists lives here. They seem to be watching our
house. You could be in danger.
I had never felt in danger before. I loved walking through
Leidens beautiful streets by myself, following the winding river
to where Anneke and Geerde lived. What if Mama and I went
together? I asked.
Papa wiped his mouth and stood to return to the print shop.
Even if there are two of you, Im not so sure.
Well, Im not afraid, Mama said. She was a tiny woman who
was sometimes mistaken for a child when she covered her graying
blond hair with a bonnet. She was as fearless as a biblical matriarch. Our heavenly Father will watch over us.
Thats very true, my dear. But I still dont want Geesje to go
out alone.
I-Ill go with her, sir. Papas apprentice spoke so rarely that
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ers stopped bringing him their business. Some of the vendors in the
marketplace refused to sell to Mama and me or to other members
of our Separatist congregation. I didnt understand why all of this
was happening, but I became very grateful for Maartens silent,
protective presence with me whenever I ventured out.
By the time a year had passed and I turned sixteen, Papas
declining business and the growing animosity of our neighbors
forced him to make a decision. He invited Anneke and Geerde and
their husbands to our home one Sunday after church to tell all of
us the news. I have decided to leave Leiden altogether and move
my print shop to the town of Arnhem.
No... I breathed. This was our home. We couldnt leave
Leiden. I covered my mouth, careful to keep my thoughts to myself.
My sisters also seemed shocked by the news.
Dominie Albertus Van Raalte, who was one of the founders of the seceding church here in Leiden, has recently moved to
Arnhem, Papa told us. He used to preach to our congregation
until he was driven away a few years ago. The Separatist church
in Arnhem is larger than the one here, so we wont have to endure
religious persecution alone.
Mama reached for Papas hand as if to show everyone that she
supported him. This has been a very difficult decision for us to
make, she told my sisters. It will be hard to say good-bye and
leave you and your families behind in Leiden. My sisters and I
were already tearful, but Mama remained strong. She would shed
her tears in private.
But perhaps you will decide to come to Arnhem, too, Papa
said, addressing his sons-in-law. If youd like, I will see if there
is work for you there.
They showed little enthusiasm for the idea and their promises
were vague, even though they also were Separatists. The only one
who seemed eager to move to Arnhem with us was Maarten, who
had finished his apprenticeship at age eighteen and was now Papas
assistant. I would like to move there with you, he said, if you
will allow me to. My parents are remaining here.
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I could tell by the angry look on Papas face that he was prepared to defy this ridiculous law. Mama quickly spoke up before
he had a chance to object. What will happen if there are twenty
or maybe twenty-one persons inside?
The authorities will come in and break up the meeting. The
owners of the house or business will be punished with heavy fines
for disobeying. Several of our ministers have already been fined for
holding illegal meetings and even put into prison. Papa learned
later that Dominie Van Raalte himself had spent time in prison
for disobeying. We are not wealthy people, he continued. The
fines are a very heavy burden to bear. Yet some of us believe that
being able to worship freely is worth any price.
There is no way around this law, then? Papa asked.
Dominie smiled his calm, patient smile. We have discovered
a few ways. For instance, we could have nineteen people meeting
inside your shop, while others stand outside, listening through the
open doors and windows.
That is what I will do, Papa decided.
And when the weather is pleasant, Dominie continued, we
sometimes hold outdoor services near the border of two towns.
If the authorities from one town come to break up the service,
some of us can quickly disperse to the other town so we are not
all meeting in one place.
The church met in Papas print shop on our first Sunday in
Arnhem. Mama and I and a few other women listened from our
kitchen behind the shop, while exactly nineteen people gathered
around the huge printing press out front. Dozens more jammed
the narrow alleyway on the side of the shop and crowded along
the sidewalk in front of the open door to hear Dominie Van Raalte
preach. Everyone agreed it was worth the discomfort to be able to
worship together and to hear Dominies stirring sermon assuring
us of Gods abundant love.
The joy we all felt was short-lived. A few nights later a gang of
ruffians threw an avalanche of rocks and bricks through the window of Papas new shop. The sound of shattering glass startled me
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from sleep. This time the attack didnt end with one window. Our
tormentors continued throwing stones and bricks until nearly every
window in our apartment had been smashed. Then they lobbed
more rocks through the shattered openings, trying to destroy the
furnishings inside.
Geesje! Get into the closet! I heard Papa shout. My wardrobe
was on the other side of my bedroom and I could see silvery shards
of broken glass littering the floor. I crawled beneath my bed instead,
as Papa and Maarten ran downstairs to the shop. I closed my eyes
and prayed for their safety as shouts and cries and the sound of
thudding stones came from the shop below me.
At last everything grew quiet. Too quiet. What had happened
to Papa and Maarten? Please, God... please, God... I prayed.
Then I heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps coming up the
stairs. I was still hiding beneath my bed, so I squeezed as far back
against the wall as I could, my heart pounding like the thudding
rocks. The bedroom door creaked open. Someone stood in the
doorway. I could see his wooden clogs from the crack beneath my
bed. I clamped my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming.
Geesje... ? Are you all right? a voice whispered.
Maarten.
I-Im under here. I-is it safe to come out?
Yes. The thugs are gone.... But be careful. There is glass all
over your floor.
I felt so shaky I could barely crawl out. Maarten shoved some of
the glass away with his foot, and as soon as I emerged, he caught
me in his arms and lifted me onto the bed. I was so scared! I
exclaimed as he hugged me tightly for a moment.
I know. Me too. He pulled away, and I saw a dark shadow on
the side of his face. When I tried to brush it away, it felt wet. Blood.
Maarten, your head is bleeding! Youre hurt. He reached up
to feel his forehead, and I saw him wince.
They pelted us with rocks.
That cut should be washed and bandaged. He helped me
find my shoes, then we climbed down the narrow, winding stairs
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to the kitchen. Mother had lit a lamp and was tending to several
cuts on my fathers face and arms. She nursed Maarten when she
was finished.
What were you two thinking? she scolded as she worked. You
never should have gone out there. They might have killed you!
I will do whatever it takes to defend my home and my family, Papa said.
Why is this happening to us? I asked. Why doesnt God
protect us?
He is protecting us, Geesje, Papa soothed. They threw all
those rocks, yet none of us was badly injured.
And remember what Jesus said? Mama added. The servant
is not greater than his lord. If they have persecuted me, they will
also persecute you.
The next day, Dominie Van Raalte and some other men from
our church came to help us clean up. Where were the authorities last night? Papa asked as he shoveled up stones and broken
pieces of bricks and tossed them into a bucket. Why arent they
searching for the men who did this?
Im sorry to say this isnt the first such incident, Van Raalte
replied. These ruffians have grown bolder and bolder because
they know that the city officials will look the other way.
So we can expect this to happen again? I asked. I wondered
if I would ever feel safe at night.
Our church will help you make shutters for your windows that
you can close at night, the dominie replied.
And I will sleep downstairs in the shop from now on, Maarten
added. Ill make sure no one harms you, Geesje. The purple
bruise on his forehead had swollen to the size of an egg. He would
always have a crescent-shaped scar there as a reminder of that terrible night. His dark eyes looked soft when he gazed at me, and it
gave me a funny, watery feeling inside.
That was the first time I became aware that Maarten thought
of me as more than a friend or a little sister. In the days that followed, I noticed that he became so flustered whenever I walked
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into the print shop that he would forget what he was doing and his
round face would grow very red. His reaction amused me, and so
sometimes I went into the shop for no reason at all except to test
my power over him. Then I would laugh to myself after I returned
to the kitchen. Maarten was pleasant-looking in a gangly sort of
waylike an oversized puppy that might eventually grow out of
its awkwardness. I had always thought of him as an older brother,
but after we moved to Arnhem, I began viewing him through
the eyes of the other young women from our congregation. They
giggled and blushed whenever he was around, and the braver girls
made excuses to talk with him. These girls quickly befriended me
as a way to get closer to him. Does he have a girlfriend? they
would ask. Please, tell us what hes like! A few even asked to
be introduced to him. I was happy to play matchmaker but timid
Maarten declined all their offers.
Geesje, come for a walk with me down to the Nederrijn River,
Papa said one evening after dinner. I could tell by the somber expression on his face that he had something important to discuss. I
never would have guessed that it would be about Maarten. Listen,
Geesje, he said as we walked arm in arm. Maarten approached
me the other day and asked for permission to court you.
I stopped walking, dragging Papa to a halt as I looked up at him.
For some reason the request filled me with dread when I knew I
should have felt excitement. What did you tell him?
I told him that of course he had my blessing. I believe youre
old enough and mature enough to think about marriage in another year or so, but I said that the decision to court him would
be up to you. I wont force you against your will. I felt relieved
and started walking again. It was a warm spring evening and the
streets were crowded with people who were taking advantage of
the fine weather. The only thing I will demand of any of your
suitors, Geesje, is that he must be a believer.
And a Separatist, like us?
Papa wagged his head from side to side. I would need assurances that his faith and his commitment to Christ are genuine.
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