Land and Roses

A Chapter by Sharrumkin

Theresa (Katrina) Wagner looks back over her life

Land and Roses

In the quiet of her cabin, Katrina remembered a rose, not the real roses that had grown on the grounds of Marienberg but a paper rose she had cut out of a book and pasted to the inside of her missal. Frau Meyer would have whipped her if she had caught her. Katrina did not know why she had wanted the rose. It was all so long ago but she remembered that before she slept she would look at the rose. Katrina decided that she would have roses in San Francisco. Roses and land. Her father would have approved. She would call her son, if it was a son, Klaus in his memory. Her father would become his father. She placed her hands upon her abdomen. There would be land and roses for her baby. She recalled another child, thousands of miles away. She had wanted to say she was sorry to him for everything but he would not have understood. It would be better for him to forget her and the past. She tried to do the same but at night as she lay in her bed she would remember the way he had looked at her that last morning before he left for Canada, that look of hatred and loathing.

As she slept, Katrina felt herself being borne towards America on her father's great shoulders. The forester on the Marienberg estate, Klaus Leuger had seemed to little Katrina to resemble the great trees he cared for. Tall, brown and sturdy he would sweep her up in his great arms tickling her with his long black beard.

She had just turned five and was sitting next to Papa in front of the great stone fireplace when he pulled her up on to his lap. “So, little one," he asked her. "What do you think of America?”

Her mother, Maria, and her brothers looked up at him.

“In America” he told them, in a voice struggling to explain a concept too difficult for his words, “a man owns his own trees.”

That was all that Klaus knew of America. He had heard of it from a man who had heard of it from another man, but little as it was, he had decided to take his family to America. They would save their money and when they had enough they would steal across the border and go west. If one went far enough west, one would come to America. In order to help raise the money he asked permission from Baron Albrecht to open a small tavern. The baron had no objection if Klaus paid him ten per cent of the profits. Klaus agreed but his wife Maria had sensed trouble. Herr Radek, she warned Klaus, would also want a share.

A week later Herr Radek stopped by the cottage, ostensibly to examine the tavern's books. He stated that he, would expect a small fee for his trouble, ten per cent of Klaus’s takings. Klaus refused. The understanding was between himself and his Excellency. Radek bowed and left.

A year passed. In the leather bag buried in the dirt floor underneath Klaus and Maria's bag, the thalers blossomed. Then one February night when the forest trails were buried deep beneath the snow, the Leugers left Marienberg. Hauling their goods on a sled they fled north aiming for the Saxon border. Karl theorized that the Baron would think that they had fled for the closest border crossing into Bavaria. He was wrong. Three miles from the Saxon border, Baron Albrecht waited accompanied by Herr Radek and a squad of dragoons.

Klaus pulled Katrina off his shoulders. Handing her to Maria he told her to lead the children over the border. Then taking his hunting rifle he took cover behind a boulder and waited. As she stumbled through the snow, Katrina could hear rifle shots and the pounding of horses' hooves. Her mother cried at her not to look back.

She stumbled on trying not trying not to hear the horses driving towards them. She fell forward. When she struggled to her knees she found herself looking up at a great black stallion. On it a sad-faced mustachioed corporal in a white uniform bent down towards her.

The soldier brought her to where her mother and brothers stood surrounded by the dragoons. Lying face down in the snow was her father. Regrettable, said Albrecht. He then rode away leaving them to the soldiers and to Herr Radek. Her mother received six months for abetting her husband's crime and died of of prison fever. Katrina and her brothers were placed in the care of Herr Radek.

The overseer took a strong interest in the two brothers. Having no use for a five-year-old girl, he placed her in the main kitchen. There she would spend the next eight years scrubbing pots and learning the rudiments of cookery. The years slipped away. Her father's dream slipped away with them. Then when she was ten Franz came to her tiny cubbyhole of a room.

A heavy thumping at her door roused Katrina from sleep. She rose and lit the tiny candle beside her bed. Opening her door she found Franz wearing a green leather jacket lounging against the wall. As he chewed a toothpick he told her that he had brought her a gift, a box of chocolates.

“From Herr Radek,” he said.

Katrina frowned. “I don't want it. Papa never liked him. You shouldn't take things from him either.”

Franz replied by popping a chocolate into his mouth. Then reaching out he grabbed her hair and yanked her towards him. Muffling her scream with the sleeve of his coat he he pulled her to the floor. There he kicked and hit her until she curled into whimpering ball.

“Now listen to me, you stupid b***h, ” Franz hissed. “You're my sister and I love you so I'll explain this for your own good. Papa was a fool. He got himself and Mama killed. Herr Radek is our friend. When he wants to give you something, you take it. If he wants you to do something, you do it. Understand?”

Satisfied from her whimpering that she understood, he released her. Next to her shaking, huddled body, he placed a piece of paper, a quill pen and an inkwell. He then settled onto Katrinas's bed. Stretching out his long legs Franz sampled another chocolate. “Herr Radek wants you to write a letter. Any objections?”

Katrina's shaking hand picked up the pen.

Franz took another bite out of the chocolate. “Good Now …. Your Excellency, Baron Albrecht Von Kraunitz. Dear sir…”

The baron's subsequent suicide Katrina had greeted with indifference. Looking back she conceded that the letters her brothers and she had written may have contributed to his death and yet she saw no reason to grieve for the man who had destroyed her father. The letters marked the beginning of an alliance between the Leugers and Herr Radek. If they would remain loyal to him, he would bring them to America. Her father's dream would be accomplished, his death avenged. To further strengthen that alliance her brothers agreed to allow her to become Radek's mistress. She had been thirteen, old enough Franz judged to be of more use than just scrubbing pots.

***

Three days passed before she spoke to another passenger. They must think me odd she thought as she paced the deck, enjoying the warmth of the Florida sun. That odd little woman in stateroom four was what they must be saying. There were so few women on this ship. Over two hundred passengers and crew and she had counted only eight women. There would be a shortage of marriageable females in San Francisco, not that she was interested but it was a fact she might be able to use to her advantage. To ward off unwelcome advances she wore a thin gold ring. If asked any questions and if her condition should become apparent she would stick to her story of being a widow. That she hoped would be enough.

A man in a tall silk hat stood by the stern of the ship leaning out over the railing. At the sound of her footsteps he turned, tipped his hat and bowed. “Evening ma’am. Out for some fresh air?”

She nodded at the man and passed him. His voice was different, tinged with the gentle drawl of the upper south. She ignored his greeting but as she walked away she glanced back. He had resumed his position at the railing. For some strange reason she could not even explain to herself Katrina felt irked that he had so easily dismissed her. “Yes.”

The man turned. “Ma’am?” he asked in puzzlement.

“It is a fine evening for taking the air.”

“That it is, ma’am.” The sound of her voice had puzzled him. “You’re not an American?”

“Austrian. Perhaps someday I will be American.”

“Yes ma’am. No offense intended.”

“None taken.” She granted the feeblest of smiles. “Goodnight.”

“Bartlett.”

“Sir?”

“Sam Bartlett. That’s my name. Customary to give one’s name you know.”

“Is it?” To give him her name, Katrina sensed, would be to give him an advantage. She had learned never to abandon a position of superior strength. Her smile firmed. “Goodnight Mister Bartlett.”

The next evening he was again standing by the railing. She thought of turning away but even as she considered it he swept off his hat. “A fine evening, Miss Wagner.”

Before she could reply he began to explain. “The steward, ma’am. He gave me your name. I slipped him a dollar.”

“Do you always bribe officials Mister Bartlett?”

“Not always. Haven’t got the money for it. My apologies for startling you. ”

“You did not startle me, Mister Bartlett. I am not startled by what I am indifferent to. You merely annoy me.” She turned to leave.

“Could I see you to your cabin?”

“Why? Am I going to be attacked on board this ship?”

“I just thought you might care for some company.”

“Mister Bartlett, you are not from New York are you?”

“Virginia, ma’am. Richmond Virginia.”

“I see.” She recalled Radek’s friend, Mister Prentice. “You are a slave owner.”

“No ma’an. I’ve never owned a .. . “

“Slavery, sir, is an abomination in the eyes of God.”

“I know. That’s why I’m not in Virginia.”

Katrina, caught off guard, could reply with only an “oh”. Again she walked away.

“You never answered my question, ma’am.”

Flustered she wheeled towards him. “Are you as stupid as you look, Mister Bartlett? I do not want your company. I do not want anyone’s company. If you think a set of cheap clothes and a tall hat gives you the right to bother me. Then you are very wrong. Goodbye Mister Bartlett.”

She did not sleep well that night. The thought of Mister Bartlett caused her to pace her room. She would speak to the captain himself about the man. If the man should ever approach her again she would have him placed in irons. Yes. They could do that aboard ships. She would talk to the captain first thing. She would complain about the steward as well. No one would dare intrude upon her again.

Before she said her prayers and slept Katrina counted her money and examined her jewelry to assure herself that no one had slipped into her cabin while she was away. She admitted that there were good and honest people. Her own father was one. Such people were few. Most were not above petty thefts and lies. Not evil she admitted. Just human greed and lust. That Bartlett man for instance had seen in her an easy victim, a woman alone in possession of money. She would never allow herself to fall for such a transparent scoundrel. Tomorrow she would see the captain about him. As the ship sailed through the dark she recounted her money.

***

The barking of the conductor’s voice awakened Peter.

“Regina. Ten minutes.”

Peter peeped through the curtain. The flat prairie still stretched out before him. He had been watching the same scene for a thousand miles. Then the first buildings appeared little more then shacks growing up like weeds beside the tracks. Everything here looked so new he thought, unlike Europe or in its own way, Kilmarnock. Even this province, Saskatchewan, was only a few weeks old. He was looking at the birth of a society, and births, he told himself, were always a messy affair. Deciding to spend a day and night he got off the train. He spent the day strolling the streets gawking at the street windows and feeling the prairie wind ruffle his beard and hair. The new capitol of the new province was twenty years old. But its youth lay in more then mere chronology. It felt new. Perhaps because of his memories of Alex or due to the village’s isolation, Kilmarnock had struck him as carrying a burden of age. Regina reminded him of John Thomas’s tales of the Klondike and Alaska. People pouring in each determined to make his fortune. Here the quest was not for gold. It was for something more valuable, the thick black, prairie soil. Within another generation the immigrants thronging the land offices and the farmers already settled would feed the world. It was, he reflected, not a bad destiny for a nation.

***

Three weeks after leaving New York the Columbia sailed past the gray walls of the Morro guarding Havana harbour. The ship would be in Havana for two days to take on fresh water and provisions. The passengers could spend the day seeing the city, although they were warned to stay away from the poorer parts of the city. Yellow fever was in the air. As Katrina looked over the railing at the small pilot boat and beyond it at the steeples of the city she remembered that tomorrow would be Sunday. She had not been to church since leaving New York. This solidly Protestant ship offered neither priest nor chapel. It would be good to step onto a Catholic land. Radek always claimed that the Spanish were morally degenerate but at least they were Catholic. As she turned to go back to her cabin she saw Mr. Bartlett at the other end of the railing standing with a few other gentlemen looking over the harbour at the city. He did not notice her, something she was glad of for as she paused. Mister Bartlett continued to look out over the water. Miffed, Katrina turned her eyes away and strode back to her cabin.

San Ignacio dated back to the early days of Spanish rule. It was not the largest church in the city but it was the closest to the harbour. After repeated questions of “donde esta el eglisia” in her Austrian accent she was able to make a cab driver understand that she wished to go to mass. The driver nodded, said “San Ignacio” which Katrina interpreted as being the name of the church. The driver dropped her off at a severe Romanesque gray stone building at the end of a square. Churchgoers were already thronging through the doors. Protecting her head from the sun by a parasol, she made her way up the stairs . Before entering she lowered and closed her parasol and looked around that the square. Small stalls had been set where hawkers were selling food, drink and pictures of the Holy Virgin. Katrina frowned. The people had to make a living she admitted, but to do so in such close proximity to a church and on Sunday struck her as being irreligious.

The coolness of the church swallowed her. She had been suffering traces of nausea that morning. If it were not for the chance to go to mass, she would have preferred spending the morning in her cabin, stifling as it was. Finding an empty spot in a pew close to the rear of the church she knelt and began to pray.

The mass moved forward with the slow dignity of a great ship. Neither priest nor parishioners were concerned with time. Here time moved at God’s pace. Katrina, despite the coolness of the church could feel the perspiration trickling down her face. With the back of her gloved hand she brushed it away. The nausea was growing worse. She was now five months along. It could not be morning sickness could it she asked herself. The priest’s distant voice had become a buzzing in her hears. Then she noticed the people around her rising. It was time for the communion. She rose and followed keeping her thoughts upon neither herself or upon the people around her. If she could be devout enough, commit no more sins then someday God would forgive her for Josef and for Radek.

She tried to ignore the throbbing in her forehead concentrating upon her prayers and upon the heels of the parishioner in front of her. Having taken the host she turned with bowed head. On the way back to her seat she passed a man who struck her as being familiar but preoccupied as she was with her thoughts she shrugged the matter of. As she knelt a dryness settled in her throat. She would have to rest immediately after mass. When the priest dismissed she crossed herself and stood. It was when she turned that she saw Mister Bartlett.

He bowed. “Ma’am. I hope you enjoyed the service.”

“It is a matter of duty, not of enjoyment.” Had the man followed her? She felt her irritation growing. Her gloved hands pressed her bible closer to her breast. “I did not know that you were a Catholic, Mister Bartlett?”

“You never asked, ma’am. My family is descended from one of the oldest Catholic families in Maryland. That was the only colony settled by English Catholics. My grandfather took up land along the James River. The neighbours do think it to be a bit odd, our being Catholic and all. “

“A reasonable assumption for your neighbours to make” she said, brushing past him. Then an abdominal pain caused her to stagger forward.

“You’re not well, ma’am?”

“I’m perfectly fine, thank you. Please, get out of my way.” She pushed him away and headed for the street. She was just about to step outside when she collapsed.

***

The gentle rocking of the ship woke her. She opened her eyes to find herself within the comforting walls of her cabin. She wondered how she got here.

Mrs. Nesbitt sat in her reading chair. The snub-nosed spectacled wife of a college lecturer hoping to establish a school in Francisco, she eyed Mrs. Wagner as she would have granted an interesting biological specimen. The ship lacking a physician Miss. Nesbitt had taken that duty onto herself.

“Too much heat, my dear. Too be expected when you’re in the family way.”

“You know?” Katrina whispered.

“The physician who inspected you may have been a Spaniard, but he was still a physician. How many months?”

Katrina turned her head to the wall. She had no wish to have the woman in her room.

“My guess is that you’re six months along. The ship reaches California, God be willing, in two months. Isn’t that rather delicate timing?” When Mrs. Wagner did not reply the woman continued. “You may think it none of my affair but a woman does need other women at this time, if only for the sake of the child. Is Mister Wagner waiting for you in San Francisco?”

“No.”

“I see. I am sorry.”

“Why?”

“Your husband is deceased.”

“You never knew him.”

“No, but I know you. Even if you do not think of yourself, you must think of your child. Everything in reasonable moderation my dear, especially in the tropics.”

Why, Katrina asked did middle-class Americans insist upon speaking as if they stepped out of a Dickensian novel Was Dickens that persuasive an influence? She looked at the papered wall of her cabin. She thought of Radek, Josef and Frederick. “Moderation” she whispered.

“Quite so. Oh, Mister Bartlett sends his regards and his apologies.”

“Mister . . .”

“He wasn’t aware of your condition you see. He never actually noticed your ring. You've always worn gloves. Anyway he sends his apologies if he did anything rude or upsetting. He hopes you did not take offense.”

How Katrina asked herself could one take offence at one towards him you are indifferent.

“I’ll leave you to rest then. I’ll look in on you later. The steward will be by with some hot tea. Just the thing my dear.”

I am not your dear Katrina wanted to scream. Instead, she closed her eyes and pretended to sleep.

Only after the woman had closed the door behind her did she crumple the sheets up around her and begin to cry.

***

The train carried Peter west to a cattle town known as Calgary. Peter had read of such places. Armed desperadoes, made mad from the cheapest liquor shooting one another in the street. Calgary was in a sense disappointing. Not only were there no armed desperadoes, liquor could not be obtained anywhere, at least not legally. A conductor informed the English speaking men in third class that liquor was obtainable at certain private establishments. Most of the immigrants having gotten off in Saskatchewan, the cowhands, farmers and shopkeepers in the car relaxed amongst themselves . They tried drawing Doctor MacTavish into their conversations. Since the bulk of their conversation centered around cattle and barbed wire he chose to remain aloof.

***

Katrina did doze off. Then, as she rose out of her sleep, a fear hat had haunted her since leaving New York gripped her. Had anyone found her jewelry? What could have happened to it during the past three days? Despite her tiredness she rose from her bed. Ignoring the throbbing in her skull and the heaviness of her legs she stumbled towards the dresser. She pulled out the bottom drawer and felt beneath her clothes. She could feel no box, only the wooden bottom of the drawer. Thinking that she might have been mistaken she pulled out the other drawers. Then frantic she tossed clothes aside as she examined every inch of the dresser. Exhausted she slid to the floor, a crumpled green dress in her arms.

Captain Harris was a man who prided himself upon taking things in their stride. One had to be to walk the quarterdeck of a McKay clipper. Even so he was taken somewhat aback at the sight of a small brown-haired woman in a nightgown running towards him. The Wagner Woman, he thought. An odd one that. Had her illness taken way her sanity?

“I want to . . . A theft. I want to report a theft,” she stammered, brushing away a loose strand of hair.

It dawned upon Captain Harris what the woman was upset about. “Ma’am . . .you should not distress yourself.”

“My jewels and money. All of it. I want it back.” Her voice rose to a shout. “I want it back!”

“Mrs. Wagner,” a familiar voice tinged by a Virginian drawl spoke. Katrina wheeled about to face Bartlett. “I took it,” he said as he tipped his hat.

Katrina nodded. She had known the man was nothing more then a thief. Before Bartlett or the captain or anyone else could speak she threw herself at the man pounding him with her fists. “I want it back!”

The captain caught her arms trying all the time not to hurt her. “Mrs. Wagner.. It is the custom aboard this ship to place all jewels in a safe in my cabin for safekeeping. Mrs. Bartlett was given the box by Mrs. Nesbitt. She found it in your drawer while looking for your gown.

“And you believed that?”

“Yes. I do.”

“I want to examine my jewels. All of them.”

The captain bowed. “Of course.”

As she followed the captain to his cabin she glanced back. Mr. Bartlett was leaning against the railing staring out over the sea.

Next to the captain’s berth was an iron vault, with two locks. The captain taking out a bunch of keys undid the locks. He opened the vault and drew out the jewel case. Katrina grabbed it from him and placed it on his desk. She unlocked it and looked inside. Almost five minutes passed before she satisfied herself that nothing was missing. She locked it and tucked it under her arm. The captain coughed. “Ma’am?”

“Yes captain.”

“Your pardon ma’am but everyone on this ship will now know what you have in your room. I would suggest quite strongly that you keep it here.”

Katrina was about to refuse when she caught a sight of herself in the captain’s mirror, hair disheveled, dressing gown half undone, clutching the jewelry case. Am I going mad she asked herself. She looked down at the box and then at Captain Harris. “Yes of course.” She handed him the box. “I have been very foolish, Captain Harris. I do apologize.”

“I don’t think I’m the one you should apologize to, ma’am. I’ll give it back the day we dock in San Francisco. Don’t you worry about it.”

“Yes.” Katrina patted her hair back into reasonable order and tied her dressing gown. “Thank you.”

She found Sam Bartlett still leaning against the railing, his eyes on the sea. “Mister Bartlett.”

He spoke his voice soft and quiet. “If a man in Virginia had called me a thief, I would have had to shoot him. Can’t do that with a lady of course.”

“I was angry and upset and ill. I apologize.”

“Thank you. Perhaps I was partly at fault. I should not have touched your box but many going to California go for dishonest reasons.”

“I understand.”

“Now you have your jewels. I’m glad that you’re happy. Good day, Mrs. Wagner.”

He began to walk away.

“Mister Bartlett.”

“Yes?”

“When you first introduced yourself to me, I thought . . .”

“You thought I was a thief.”

“Yes. So why did you introduce yourself?”

“Why? I thought you needed a friend. For that mistake I also apologize.”

“But . . .” There was one thing Katrina did not understand.

“What?

“Why me?”

“Why not?”

“But there are others. Prettier then me. You’re a handsome man, Mister Bartlett. You don’t need me.”

“So the only thing I could be interested in would be your jewels?’

“A woman has to be careful, Mister Bartlett.”

“Yes, she does. Is there anything else, Mrs. Wagner?”

“Just one thing.”

“Yes?”

“I am still in need of a friend, Mister Bartlett, if you would like the job?”

“I’ll think it over. Perhaps you’d best get back to bed.”

“Yes.” Before she left she turned back. “Thank you,” she said, with a smile Mister Bartlett had seen on the August night the ship had sailed.

Three days later while taking tea in the salon with Katrina he announced that California was not his final destination. “I’ll be staying a couple of weeks, see the city. That sort of thing. Then I’ll be sailing north.”

“North?” Katrina frowned. The only thing north of California was wilderness and a few Russians.

“The Oregon, close to the British border actually.”

“But what’s wrong with California. Surely that’s where the future is?”

“For most of the passengers on this ship, yes; but not for me. I have a half-brother who has land on the Columbia, Toby Bartlett. He’s offered me a job helping to manage a store. Good prospects he says.”

“But that means you won’t be staying in California.”

“I can’t be in both places.”

“No, of course not. I am very sad to hear that Mister Bartlett. We shall not be seeing one another after you go north. I have enjoyed your company.”

“And will continue to do so. Be another two months before we reach San Francisco, I can always write.”

“Of course.”

“You are still determined to go into business for yourself?”

“I think so. It may be difficult but I have no wish to work for anyone else.”

“And which sort of business would you be interested in?”

“I don’t really know. I would like to see where the demand is first.”

“That includes about everything from what I’ve heard.”

“Are you content to be a storekeeper for your friend, Mister Bartlett?”

“Yes. I think so. Toby’s a good man.”

“It just seems such a waste of your talents.”

“Perhaps. Other things may turn up. It’s growing quite fast out there. There are opportunities.”

“Of course.”

As the ship left the Cuban coast behind Katrina thought of California. It was both a word and an idea. There was a place of course but it had no reality for her. For the past month she had thought of what she would do when she arrived there. She had imagined starting a business and investing in land but the reality of her situation was closing in. She would be alone in a city famous for lawlessness. What would stop a desperado from seizing her money and jewels, perhaps even killing her. She would need a protector, someone she could trust. The only reasonable candidate seemed to be Mister Bartlett Yet, he seemed the only passenger not intent upon settling in California. Perhaps she should reconsider her plan. As the ship moved deeper into the Atlantic, Bartlett continued to recite Mister Nash’s descriptions of the Columbia River Valley. She considered changing her destination.

What would be in the Oregon for her? As Mister Bartlett said there would be opportunities.

***

It truly is a beautiful sight, Peter thought as he stood by the shore of Lake Louise. The great mountains rising around him, the smell of the forest, and the clear waters of the lake satisfied him in a way that the western plains could not. He wondered why that was so. Rock was only rock. Water was only water. There is, he told himself, no beauty in nature except that which we chose to see, so why did this landscape move him? Beauty lay not in the land but in our perception of it. He could not see beauty in the prairie. Others could he admitted. He could not. He could see it here. He could see it in Kilmarnock. He had even seen it in a Georgian prison camp. He had looked for it in Europe but rarely had he found it where it was supposed to be. A very human quality, beauty. No other species possesses it. He had found a love of beauty in the most obscene mouthed lumberjack. Men who would quote profanities in every other word he had seen moved to tears by the melancholy strain of a violin, or by the early morning light rising above a lake.

So what did that mean? He knew those in his past who could look upon this lake and mountains and feel nothing except perhaps boredom. Radek had been one, Milos another. The Leuger brothers had been like that. But Katrina? Would she have been unmoved. She had hid so much of herself away from him. He could not say whether she would have or not. She had always liked flowers. So what? There were men who loved their dogs and beat their wives. Maureen had advised him to forgive her and by so doing place the past behind him. How could he forgive her unless he knew her? Give her the benefit of the doubt? The doubt would still remain nibbling away at any forgiveness. He would look into her eyes when he told her who he was. Only then could he know the kind of person he was being asked to forgive.

***

Sam Bartlett looked up from his cards at Theresa. “I don’t understand.”

“What is there to understand, Mister Bartlett?”

“I thought you had your heart set upon California?”

“I did, but I have given the matter a great deal of thought. I will of course remain in San Francisco for my confinement. After that I will go north to the Oregon Country. I believe that’s gin.”

Bartlett frowned as he glanced at Katrina’s cards. He tossed his on the table. “Then you will come north with me?”

“That was what I said, wasn’t it?”

“It’s still frontier, Mrs. Wagner. It won’t be easy for a lady, especially with an infant.”

“I may be stronger then you think, Mister Bartlett.”

“Yes ma’am. I do believe you are. Where did you learn to play cards from?”

“My brothers. The only useful thing they ever taught me.”

“You have brothers. You’ve never mentioned your family, Mrs. Wagner.”

He had heard whispers, a young expectant mother on her own, no husband, no chaperone, carrying a great deal of money on her.

“No. I haven’t.”

How could a young woman come across such wealth. A young widow perhaps. There were those who held less charitable opinions. Bartlett was certain they were untrue. He was also certain that Theresa was hiding something from him.

“You must have loved him very much?”

“Who?”

“Mister Wagner?”

“Yes. Very much. Would you care to cut the cards, Mister Bartlett.”

“No, I don’t think so. I’d trust any hand you deal me, Mrs. Wagner.”

“Then you sir, are a fool.”

“That has been said before.”

Katrina was not surprised. Anyone who could accept another person based upon such flimsy evidence as Mister Bartlett had, was a man prone to do foolish things. In a sense, Mister Bartlett was as much in need of protection as she.

“This half-brother of yours, this Toby. He is trustworthy.”

“Completely.”

No one, Katrina told herself is completely trustworthy. “You never mentioned him in describing, how many, six brothers and sisters?”

“Well, Father and mother don’t like to mention him. People are sensitive about that sort of thing in Virginia. But none of that is the fault of Toby.”

“No. Of course not.” A product of an illicit love affair, the father had probably given Sam’s half-brother money to conveniently disappear into the wilderness. It was not an unusual story.

“I think you’ll like him.”

“I’m certain I will.” Katrina concentrated on her cards. How could she possibly like anyone with a ridiculous name such as Toby?

That evening after Katrina had retired, Sam Bartlett sat in the men’s saloon, sharing a table and a bottle of whiskey with a fellow passenger, a former New Jersey bank teller, Daniel MacTeer.

As he sipped at his second glass, he asked MacTeer, “what do you think of her?”

“Mrs. Wagner?”

“Yes.”

MacTeer leaned back in his chair and placed his feet on the table. He scratched at his chin. “Don’t know, Sam. Something odd about her. Seems almost a hermit.”

“Grieving perhaps.”

“Doesn’t see terribly griefstricken to me.”

“Takes people in different ways. A young widow, a foreigner, loses her husband on the voyage to New York. Expecting her first child. It’s hard.”

“So where does all the money come from?”

“Husband sold land back in Austria.”

“Must have had a lot of land for her to be carrying a chest of jewelry?”

“Some things you don’t ask a lady, Daniel.”

“Maybe not, but I’d make an exception in this case. She’s concealing something. I could swear it.”

“Don’t tell you believe that rubbish Mrs. Nesbitt’s been whispering about her having been immoral.”

“No.” MacTeer shook his head. “Something else.”

“What?”

MacTeer dropped his feet to the floor and leaned towards his friend. “Fear.”

“Fear? Shyness. That’s natural . . .”

“No, Sam. She’s terrified of us. That’s not natural. She’s hiding something and she’s afraid we’ll find out. Mrs. Nesbitt sat with her when she was ill. The woman had nightmares. Couldn’t understand the language, but she kept crying. One name came over and over.”

“Klaus, her late husband.”

“Radek.”

“Radek?”

“He’s an investment broker. Just arrived from Austria last year.”

“So?”

“Look, I’m just a teller but over the last year the man has made quite an impression in financial circles in New York, not all of it favourable.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, rumour has it, he’s been still stealing from his employer a Baron Von Kraunitz, using the money to build up his own firm. He’s been hiring a small army of thugs and police spies to intimidate other firms. A couple of months ago he went south to Virginia, just outside Richmond to see a Mister Prentiss, about investing in slave breeding.”

“Jesus. But what does she have to do with him?”

"Why don’t you ask her? You know her better then I.”

Bartlett shook his head. “No. I can’t do that. If she thinks I’m making inquiries behind her back, she’ll never trust me again. If she wants to tell me, she will.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

“Then she doesn’t. Look Daniel, when someone comes into the bank and wishes to open an account, what do you need to know about them?”

“They should have a letter of reference from their employer.”

“How many of those letters do you follow up?”

“Well . . . not very many. As long as everything seems . . . ”

“And if it isn’t then you’ll investigate.”

“Yes.”

“So, by and large, you trust the people who come into your bank.”

“Of course. That’s the way business works.”

“So why don’t you trust Mrs. Wagner?”

“Damn it, man. Servant girls do not book first class cabins and walk around with boxes of jewelry. So how else did she get her money?”

Sam rose to his feet. “So you’re saying she’s a thief?”

“Or the best paid servant I’ve ever seen.”

“Perhaps I should ask her for a letter of reference?”

“Perhaps you should.”

“Go to hell.”

Bartlett grabbed his hat and strode out of the room.

He found her usual sitting in her chair in her cabin. She was knitting a baby bonnet. The sight would have moved him except for the memory of MacTeer’s words.

“Good Evening, Mister Bartlett.”

“Do you know a man named Radek?”

Katrina’s hands froze. She looked up. “Why do you ask?”

“It is said that you spoke his name when you were ill. How do you know him?”

“Who says this?”

“Do you know him?”

If she told him the truth she would lose him. If she told him a lie would she not also lose him. How much was he worth to her? “Yes. I knew him.”

“Did you steal from him?”

“Yes.”

“Your husband dying? Is that true?”

“No.”

Katrina turned her mind away from Sam Bartlett. She had hoped in him she would find a man she could share a new life. It was not to be. Perhaps there would be no such man. God’s punishment was hard but just. She must think of her child. As she continued to knit Katrina realized the mistake she had made. All the her tricks of survival honed during the years of living with Radek and her brothers, the lies, evasions, quiet withdrawing into oneself had made her seem as out of place here as an Australian Aborigine. Yet what else could she do? Could she actually trust this stranger with the truth?

As Bartlett turned to leave, Katrina spoke. “Only one man ever loved me. My father. When I was five he tried to bring us to America. Herr Radek told the police that my father was a revolutionary. Because of that my father and mother died. I spent the next eight years of my life scrubbing out filthy pots but I always remembered my father carrying me over the snow to America. One day I was looking through a book about flowers. I could only read a few words but I loved the pictures, especially the roses. I took one. I pasted it in my missal. At night I could fall asleep looking at it. ”

“When I was thirteen, my brothers gave me to Herr Radek. Until I was nineteen I was his w***e, almost a friend, but never quite for in the end you do not make friends with a thing. Every so often, to keep me happy he would throw me a jewel, as a master would throw his dog a bone. So I kept them, to please him, and against the day when I could get away. That day came and here I am.”

“So now what?”

“You came of your own free will, Mister Bartlett. You may leave the same way.”

She resumed her knitting.

“The child. Is that Radek’s?”

“The child is mine. Goodnight, Mister Bartlett.”

He looked at her, seated in the chair. “You were right you know.”

Katrina looked up. “Sir?”

“Slavery is an abomination. If all that you stole was yourself and your own property, then that’s not theft.”

“They won’t believe that, will they?”

“No. We’ll be in Rio in another week.”

“So.”

“Lots of ships in Rio. Shouldn’t be too hard finding another one going to California.”