Anna's Crossing: An Amish Beginnings Novel by Suzanne Woods Fisher

breathe.
    “If Christian had found out, he would put us under the Bann. He wouldn’t have let us join the group for the crossing.”
    “If he had found out, his only concern would be to make sure your baby has a chance to survive!”
    “Hush . . . keep your voice down.”
    “How could you have dared to step foot on a ship?”
    “I thought we would have reached Port Philadelphia by now. I never expected all those delays down the Rhine, then more in Rotterdam.”
    Anna let out a sigh. She, too, had been astounded at how slow a start this journey was getting.
    “Anna . . . you have to promise to help me.”
    “Me? Help? I’ve never delivered a baby.”
    “Your grandmother has.” Her eyes skirted across the aisle to where Maria sat, watching them, craning her neck and straining her ears to try to listen to them. “You’ve watched her. You know about doctoring.”
    It was true that Anna had assisted her grandmother, but she only did what her grandmother told her to do. She never thought about it, about what was happening next or what to look out for or why. Her grandmother had the gift for healing and Anna didn’t. Nor did she want it. Whenever a baby was about to arrive, her grandmother would send her out to get hot water and Anna gladly vanished. “But I’m—”
    “You’re all I’ve got.”
    Maria walked slowly by, arms crossed, ears peeled. Anna dropped her head and sliced off another piece of ginger. She waited until Maria was out of listening range, then whispered, “Lizzie, Maria has more experience. She’s had children.”
    “No! Not Maria. You know what she’s like with those strange words and rituals.”
    Maria fancied herself to be a Braucher, one who used folk magic—prayers, rituals, and spells—to heal common ailments.
    “What about Barbara? She’s had twins. And there are a few other women. Even the Mennonites. Goodness, they’ve got all those toddlers! They must know a great deal about giving birth.”
    “No. Please, Anna. Promise me you’ll be the one to help me.”
    Anna looked into Lizzie’s pleading eyes. A child having a child. She mustered up a weak smile. “Perhaps your baby will wait to arrive until we reach Port Philadelphia.” Perhaps. But she doubted it. She sighed. “How far along are you?”
    “Seven months.”
    “Truly?”
    “Maybe more.”
    Anna rose to her feet, smoothed her hands over her skirt, a habit she had picked up from her grandmother when giving instructions, and said, “Then, when the time comes, we must make do with what we have.”
    But the truth was, Anna had nothing to make do with. No experience, no knowledge, no tools. The worrisome thoughts came too fast, tumbling one after the other. She walked anxiously around the lower deck, wondering where in the world a baby could be delivered. And what if something went wrong? Things often went wrong, even for her grandmother.
    She found a hammock in a barrel and attached it to hooks on the beams of the ship. Felix saw and copied her, as did Catrina. Soon, hammocks were getting hung all around the lower deck. Anna found a book in her chest and sat by the cannon portal for light, looking out at the wind-ruffled water of the channel.
    Conditions were far from ideal—barely tolerable to endure a sea journey and certainly not to have a baby. Daylight showed through the wide gaps in the planks above them, and rain shuddered through those same gaps. To bathe, they had to go behind a makeshift curtain and rinse themselves with salt water, which made their skin feel dry and itchy. The same method to relieve themselves. The lower deck was equipped with “easing-chairs” or commodes. The most prized berths were farthest from these, in the stern of the ship, and closest to the hatches, which gave some ventilation. Now she understood why the mighty Mennonites had hurried to be first up the gangplank and into the companionway. They had more knowledge of these sea passages than the Amish and were far savvier. The