On the coast of Denmark:
I
gripped the gunwale of the tiny sailboat as it tossed in the choppy waves. I wasn’t used to being on the sea like this,
having been born in the town of Hohn, centered in the Jutland Peninsula. True, Papa was a fisherman, but I hadn’t been
his helper like my brothers.
And now I was on my way to the Isle of
Fohr, a few miles off the western coast of Denmark. Papa was seated just behind us holding the
tiller, looking quite at home there.
He’d been born and raised on Fohr like Mama, but for some reason I still
didn’t understand, they’d left the island for the mainland. Trying to settle my churning stomach, I
reached over and grabbed my sister’s hand.
Elka gave a tiny smile. Apparently, she too found the churning North Sea
“Papa, why are we going to Fohr now
after so long?” I asked.
Papa frowned and made no reply at
first. Finally he shrugged, “We will
talk of this later. Now I must keep this
boat upright.”
As he said this, the small craft
lurched into a tall wave, climbing its side and cresting the white top with a
crash. I gagged and turned to heave my
breakfast into the crashing waves.
“Aye, you’ll never make an islander,”
Papa shouted above the water’s sounds.
“Why are we going to see Grandpapa and Grandmama?” Elka asked.
I wiped my mouth and tried to swallow
the bitter taste in my throat.
“You’ll see when we get there,”
muttered Papa. “Your grandmother can be very
insistent.”
***
The boat was now tied to a floating
dock on the shore. As we climbed a nearby
grassy knoll, a man in working clothes came striding toward us from a cottage
perched on the side of the hill. He
waved, but I saw he wasn’t smiling.
When he got within a few yards of us,
he planted his feet in the sandy soil and crossed his arms in front of his
chest. “So you’ve come at last, have you
Hans?”
Papa stopped and assumed a similar
pose.
Before Papa replied, the man pointed
to Elka and me. “And these are your
girls, I presume?”
The anger in his voice was confusing
me.
“Father, please.” Papa’s voice was edged with anger, too. “Can we at least go up to the cottage?”
“Your mother insisted on it, of
course.” He said nothing else but turned
on his heel and started up the hill from where he’d come.
“So, is this truly our grandfather?” I
whispered to Elka as we tried to keep pace with the men, no easy task in our
long skirts and tight shoes.
“I guess so, Elena. I’ve never met him before either.”
Just as we reached the door of the
weathered wooden cottage, it burst open and a woman in a long brown skirt grabbed
me in her embrace. “My dear granddaughters,
at last I see you face-to-face.”
“Yes Mama,” said our father. “The
eldest is Elka, and Elena has just turned thirteen.”
“Already women,” the woman
sighed. “Why have you taken so long to
bring them to me, Hans?”
“Hmph!” This sound came from the older man. “Enough of this, Helena
‘So that’s it,’ I thought. ‘There’s a religious argument between Papa
and Grandpapa. Could this thing really
be the cause of so much strife and separation?’
“Now Anders,” the woman was sighing. “Can we please put these differences aside
for the sake of family?”
“I’m not the one who pulled their
roots out of this home-ground on Fohr and dragged them away to the mainland.”
The interior of the cottage was dimly
revealed by light coming through the small windows. They had no covering, and the shutters were
opened to the brisk outside air. I took
a deep breath, glad this seemed to settle my still-churning stomach. Despite its sparseness, the room had a homey
welcoming feel.
“We’re so fortunate to have a sunny
day, my dears. Please sit.” Grandmama guided us to benches on either side
of the worn trestle table.
Before us were chipped crockery
plates, each with a small stack of barley cakes topped with a dollop of jam.
‘Is this the special lunch?’ I
thought. ‘It seems so plain.’
“Oh, thank you, Grandmama,” Elka was
saying just then. “You didn’t have to
give us so much of your precious berry jam.”
“Please call me Nanna,” she smiled. “There’s no need to be so formal with just us
women.”
Looking up, I saw Grandmother’s warm
smile but thought I also saw tears in her shining blue eyes.
“Would you like coffee? Or are you not permitted to drink it?”
“Oh yes, Nanna,” Elka nodded. “We’d love to try your coffee.”
Once we had steaming mugs beside our
plates, I finally found my voice.
“Won’t you join us, Nanna?”
“I’ve already eaten my lunch, dears.”
“Please, just sit with us,” Elka
insisted.
“Very well.” She poured herself a mug and drew up a
battered wooden chair to the end of the table.
As we ate the barley cakes, I tried my
best to look pleased with them. This
would be considered ordinary fare in Hohn, but apparently out here on the Isle
of Fohr, things were quite different.
Then I found my mind wandering back to
Grandpapa’s comment on Baptists. My own
baptism was just a few years back, and I remembered it well. The true meaning of having my sins washed away
was cemented in my memory by the feel of the chill waters rushing over my face
as the pastor leaned me back into the lake near our little church in Hohn.
Mama ran and embraced me tightly as I
stepped back up the bank, heedless of my dripping white gown. I remembered seeing her do the same when Elka
was baptized. Now I realized with a start,
this was one of the few times Mama had ever hugged me.
“Blessings on you, my child,” she’d
murmured into my ear. “You have decided
to follow Herr Jesu Krist. May he be with you and guide you always.”
Now Elka’s voice pulled me back into
the present. “Nanna, why do Grandpapa
and our father seem so angry?”
Even as she said this, I heard deep
voices coming toward the door. “You’ve
turned your back on your family, Hans.”
Nanna jumped to her feet, slamming her
coffee mug on the tabletop, and shouted out the open window. “Do not bring your stupid arguments into my
house.”
I glanced at Elka’s face and saw she
was as surprised as me. Our own mother
would never be heard raising her voice like this in public.
“Those pig-headed men,” Nanna muttered. “They’ve made their opinions of God more
important than their own families.”
“Is that why Papa has never brought us
to visit you?”
Nanna laid her hand over Elka’s before
she replied. “You are of my own blood,”
she sighed. “I should never have let us
be torn apart like this.”
“What do you mean?”
“My husband is a Lutheran, like most
of Denmark and Germany
“So that’s why he and Mama left Fohr?”
“My husband sent them away.” Now I definitely saw tears shining in Nanna’s
eyes, and my heart felt heavy in my chest.
“He banished them?”
“Some would use that harsh word, Elena. These men—"
Her voice broke.
I reached over and gripped her
hand. It was icy cold, and I began to
rub gently, trying to warm it.
Just then the door was flung open and
Papa stomped in. “It’s time to go, my
daughters.” We could hear the tension in
his voice.
Elka rose and nodded obediently, but I
didn’t move. “I’m staying here with
Nanna,” I said. “I want to visit with my grandparents.” My mind was racing and
my heart was pounding. I couldn’t
believe these words were coming out of my mouth. But as soon as I said them, I knew they were
true.
Papa’s eyes flashed as he turned to
us, but Elka stepped toward him from where she was standing at the table. “She’s still young, Papa,” she said. “She needs to get to know her family. Please, don’t stop her.”
“Why should I take orders from you?”
Papa hissed. “You get back in your
place, woman.”
“You know Mother would let her stay
for at least a little while.”
“These old Lutherans will ruin her
faith.”
“Papa, my faith is strong enough,” I
said.
“And I’ll stay with her, if you wish,”
Elka added.
“Very well,” he grumbled. “But you must keep my father from preaching
to them,” he glared at Nanna.
“You know he loves you, Hans,” she
murmured. “He just doesn’t know how to show
it.”
Papa reached down and kissed Nanna on
top of her head. “I know, Mama.”
“If only you two weren’t so stubborn,
you thick-headed Deutsche Manner,”
she sighed.
“I can’t come back for you until after
the barley harvest,” he said then. “Are
you sure you want to stay that long?”
“We’ll be fine, Papa,” Elka said,
giving him a hug. “Don’t worry. This way we can help Nanna with her canning
for winter. Especially since she’s given
us the last of her berry jam.”
“There’s still a bit left, dear,”
Nanna smiled.
“I love the idea of helping,” I added
as I embraced Papa. “Please don’t
worry. And tell Mama we’ll help her as soon as we return.”
“Yes,” Nanna nodded. “The berries ripen earlier here than on the
mainland, I’m told. The girls’ help will
be appreciated.”
Papa was staring at the floor as
though he might find an answer there.
“Very well,” he muttered at last.
“I’ll be back before the winter storms.”
Then without another word, he turned
and stalked out the door, slamming it behind him.
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