Grasping Blanche’s hand, Anna drags her mistress towards the inn. When they reach the safety of the porch, she looks back to see the small figures of the orphans like ants in the distance, filing into an old cottage.

The storm has died down a little when she rises early the next morning. The child in her womb flutters incessantly and she has to use her chamber pot three times before she feels comfortable enough to clamber into the rowboat that will take them out to La Dragon. The man rowing them across the water is a grizzled-looking thing. He says nothing to them and, when they at last climb onto the deck, he points them to their quarters and disappears without a word.

‘He’s scared,’ Blanche says. ‘Maarten says the sailors don’t like having women aboard. It’s bad luck, even for paying passengers.’

In the cabin, they pass the time by playing cards. Blanche loses twice then, by some fluke, wins a hand which sends her whooping around the room. Anna laughs – a good feeling. She hasn’t laughed in months, not since she learned of Crispijn’s death. The thought sobers her. She touches her belly, feels the tightening pang like a band wrapped around her middle, squeezing. What will she do when this strange gift makes its presence known to the world?

The next storm arrives all at once. It flings itself upon the anchorage like a beast, battering the sails, beating the masts. The vessel rocks, throwing Anna and Blanche against each other. They stumble together, right themselves, fall again. Anna tries to clamber out onto the deck, seeking help, but the wind pushes her back. An enormous wave breaks over the bow of the ship, washes down into their cabin. Blanche is like a drowned rat, her hair soaked. The next big wave knocks her into the bed. She cannot climb out and screams at Anna for assistance. Anna stumbles across to her, but then another sudden, drenching wave cascades down through the open hatch, deluging them both. A great scream of rending wood fills Anna’s ears. Blood pounds in her head. She can hear nothing, not even Blanche’s desperate cries. As the cabin fills with water, she kicks, thinking of nothing but her own breath. Somewhere behind her, Blanche has gone quiet. Anna knows she is already gone, pinned to the bed by the great weight of water descending on them. The guilt of her death is one Anna will carry with her always. She kicks, kicks. Fights the water with every ounce of strength. The sun is like a moon, white and iridescent. She strives towards it, as if the world of water is one of air.

16

Jo

Flora was waiting outside the Texel Historical Society’s archives when Marieke and I arrived. Cristof was standing with her but as we approached, he kissed her brusquely on the cheek and walked off up the main street.