Someone Knows - Chapter 78

Atlantic Ocean, 1869

Previously…

Following a late-night cup of tea with Michael and Thomas, Johann walked a weary, pregnant Sophie back to the women’s compartment, saying, “I’ll see you in the morning.” While the men were still at breakfast the following day, Clara and Marie arrived with news that a baby had been born during the night. They knew nothing more.

*

Marie shifted her footing as the Union rolled gently beneath them, her hand reaching for Clara’s arm. Johann rose from the bench to make room for the women.

“Sit,” he said.

“We won’t stay but a minute,” Marie said.

“Please,” Johann said, “I prefer to stand.”

Clara slid into Johann’s place across from Thomas. “Do sit, Marie. Johann has been kind enough to stand.”

Michael scratched his chin. “The ship’s doctor was not called, you said?”

Marie nodded as she settled onto the bench. “That is what they are saying.”

“Though no one agrees on much else,” Clara said. “One woman insists the mother has been asleep ever since. Another says she hasn’t closed her eyes.”

Thomas folded his hands on the table. “My mother had six of us without one.”

Michael looked at him. “Six?”

“Indeed. She always said a doctor was the man you fetched when the birth did not go as it should.”

Marie nodded. “My grandmother said the same. She always wanted a midwife, if one could be had.”

Clara shook her head. “That may be, but it does not mean the mother is well.”

“No,” Thomas agreed. “Nor does it mean she is dy—”

The clang of the heavy iron lid dropping onto the empty porridge cauldron drowned out the rest of Thomas’s sentence. The cook muttered under his breath as he settled the lid back into place, casting a quick glance around the room.

Clara threw up her hands. “Honestly. Must they choose this very moment to make such a racket?” She shook her head. “As I was saying, no one said she was dying. It’s just everyone seems unwilling to tell us anything.”

The bustle of the dining room eased as breakfast drew to a close. Benches scraped across the floorboards as families rose to leave. Passengers rinsed their breakfast tins at the wash barrels, splashing water onto the floor. A child cried for more porridge three tables away, drawing weary laughter from the adults.

Johann watched a young mother seated not far from Thomas gather her baby into her arms before following her husband toward the companionway.

He remembered the day Margarete was born. His eldest sister, Mina, stayed beside their mother while two-year-old Bertha spent the afternoon with a neighbor. His father had spent much of the day outside, repairing a fence that needed no repair.

It was the same year Mina had lost her first son, a boy named Hermann. His mother had said that God sometimes took children for reasons no one understood.

Johann startled as Thomas’s spoon clattered against his tin.

“Well,” Michael said, shaking his head. “That tells us nothing at all.”

Johann frowned. “What tells us nothing?”

“All these stories,” Michael said. “One says the child came before dawn. Another says after. Who cares when the baby was born? If there is a child, it is here, isn’t it?”

“We’ve heard nothing that’s certain,” Thomas agreed.

Clara glanced over her shoulder. “Johann, will you either sit down or say something?”

Thomas cleared his throat. “Johann?”

“Oh, I beg your pardon. I was just…”

“The dining room is half empty now, and you are making me nervous standing behind me.”

“Clara—” Marie began.

Clara pushed herself to her feet. “I am going to find out. I have heard quite enough guessing.”

Thomas stood as well. “The women have had a difficult night and perhaps they would rather be left—”

“Then they may tell me so,” Clara said. “Marie, are you coming?”

Marie hesitated, her brow creasing.

Johann stepped back to let them pass. “If it is Sophie…”

“We’ll come back and tell you,” Marie said, meeting his eyes.

Clara drew herself up. “We shall. There are over six hundred souls aboard this ship. Someone knows. The mother certainly knows.”

Michael leaned back on the bench, watching them leave. “God help the poor fellow who stands between Clara and an answer.”

Thomas shook his head. “Quite true.”

Michael looked up at Johann. “You have worn a hole in the floor standing there. The bench is available again.”

Johann stared at the empty seat before him. He considered sitting down, but the thought of waiting for Clara to return seemed impossible.

“I think I’ll go above,” he said.

Thomas slipped his tin into his coat pocket. “Fresh air would not go amiss.”

Michael pushed himself to his feet. “Aye, before the porridge returns to visit me.”

“I thought it was the best porridge you’d ever had,” Thomas said, raising an eyebrow.

“It was,” Michael said. “That doesn’t mean I wish to meet it twice.”

Thomas started toward the companionway. Overhead, the muffled thud of boots crossed the deck, followed by a crewman calling to another as he descended the stairs.

After a few steps, Michael glanced over his shoulder. “Are you coming, Johann? It was your idea.”

Johann looked up.

“You said you wanted fresh air,” Thomas called.

“Oh,” Johann said. Twisting the end of his mustache, he hurried after them.

Cool, damp air struck Johann’s face as he stepped onto the deck, and he stood for a moment drawing it in, tasting salt on the wind after the long hours spent below.

The deck was more crowded than he had expected. Passengers crowded the rails, drawing deep breaths of fresh air, while others claimed the patches of sunlight that broke through the clouds. Children darted between the passengers while their mothers called after them. The laughter reminded him of Theodor and Max sprinting down the lane until Bertha complained that they were leaving Margarete behind.

They had not gone far before stopping to let a sailor finish examining a taut line secured to a belaying pin before looking up to inspect the rigging.

“Find much damage after the storm?” Michael asked.

“Less than we feared. Enough to keep us busy.”

“We heard passengers arguing whether we’re still two days from Castle Garden. Is that so?” Thomas asked.

The sailor glanced toward the sky. “Monday, God willing.”

Michael frowned. “Monday? Is it Saturday already? Then I’ve lost a day somewhere.”

“I believe most of the ship has,” Thomas answered. “You’re in good company.”

Johann rested his forearms on the rail and watched the swells slide along the hull. “If we reach New York on Monday, and Sophie must remain in her berth for a week… we’d have to leave her...”

Thomas stepped beside him at the rail. “We do not know that it is Sophie.”

“No,” Michael agreed. “But I was thinking much the same, I just thought it best not to say so.”

Johann lifted his gaze to the horizon, where sea and sky met in a pale line.

The wind tugged at his coat. New York was larger than any place Johann could imagine. What would become of her there? She had no family waiting at Castle Garden. No husband. No home. Only a baby.

Michael eased in beside Johann, giving him a small nudge with his elbow. “Move over.”

Johann shifted to make room.

I could wait on the dock until she was allowed off the ship.

Johann’s grip tightened on the rail. But where would he wait? He had neither work nor money to remain in New York.

She could come with me.

He pictured arriving in Minnesota with Sophie and a newborn baby. His uncle was expecting a nephew ready to work.

And burden his uncle, who had already been so generous in paying for his passage, with Sophie and her child as well?

He could not ask it of him.

It seemed people were quicker to judge Sophie than to help her and Johann was beginning to realize how little he himself had to offer.

Thomas’s shoulder brushed Johann’s as the ship rolled. “You’ve thought yourself into a corner.”

Johann looked from Thomas to Michael, almost surprised to find them still standing beside him.

Thomas leaned against the rail. “If it is Sophie, I’ll be close by working along the waterfront.”

“That’s as much as any man can promise,” Michael said.

Thomas shrugged. “I’ll see what I can do.”