‘What will you call her?’ Yolente says, stroking the hair off the baby’s forehead. Anna has never seen such a perfect pearl of a child, with pale, unblemished skin, rosebud lips and Crispijn’s sombre grey eyes.

‘I will name her Brechtje,’ Anna says, kissing the soft skin on her baby’s cheek. ‘It means light.’

Nestling Brechtje against her chest, she watches the light move across the wall of the room that has become her sanctuary now, her own little piece of home. The light is always best after a storm, she thinks. It is cleansing and pure and capable of washing away sin. There are a few regrets she still harbours. Over the last six months following Blanche’s death, Anna intended to write to Maarten and tell him of her own survival. He might want to know about Blanche’s last moments. It might bring him comfort. But for some reason, she could not bring herself to do so. Every day, she woke with the intention of asking Yolente for paper and pen. Every day, she spent so much time caring for the orphans – feeding and bathing them and keeping them warm – that the letter never eventuated.

There are seven orphans who share the rundown cottage with Yolente as their teacher and protector. At first, they were stunted, underfed. Anna longed for the funds to feed them up but she had nothing worth selling except her mother’s silk dress and the beautiful Dutch tears Catharina gave her, which are now resting together at the bottom of the ocean. There was only one course of action she could think of and so, a month after her delusions pass and she could once again think clearly, she summoned the courage to write to Catharina for help. She signed herself Agneta Corrin. A new name for the new person she has become. She wanted to forget Anna Tesseltje ever existed.

For five months, nothing came. Anna worked in the garden, pulling vegetables, stocking the parlour against the coming winter frosts, her belly swelling to the size of a ripe melon. She supervised the orphans selling the water from the well to the sailors. Occasionally she overheard bits of gossip. In this way, she learned that Maarten remarried, that he and his new wife moved to the west. She felt sorry for the woman who has taken Blanche’s fate, but grateful that God has delivered her this second chance. Sometimes she dreamed of the silk dress at the bottom of the ocean, imagines swimming out there and retrieving it, selling it to one of the cloth merchants. But it is surely dust now, broken down by the powerful tide.