I placed my bag under the berth, then looked in. Thea lay against the dividing rail on her back, eyes shut, one hand gripping the wood, the other arm flung across the mattress.
‘Thea?’
Nothing. She was sleeping. Kicking off my clogs I crawled in and, gently moving her arm to her side, lay down beside her. She twitched in her sleep. I gripped the side of the mattress to stop myself from tipping towards her with the movement of the ship, and listened to Mutter Scheck’s bedside prayers, the squeak of metal as the lamp was put out. I blinked back the sudden darkness.
My stomach felt tight. I told myself it was because I had not yet become used to the close air beneath decks and the heat of so many bodies in a small space, that I was still afflicted with seasickness. I told myself it would pass and lay still, anxious to remain on my side of the bunk, my body bracing every time the ship lifted, plunged. I did not know how to lie so close to Thea. I did not understand my own agitation.
Hours passed. The ship creaked. There was the sound of laughter from the main body of berths. Someone shushed. I heard the drip of water as the dipper was lifted, the muffled knocking as it was dropped back against the side of the drinking barrel. Sobbing came from a few bunks over. Christiana, I thought. My muscles began to tremble from the exertion of holding myself to the edge of the bed and at last, exhausted, I gave in, and let myself roll against Thea.
She stirred and I felt her lift her arm and place it around me. The weight of it was a balm.
‘Hanne?’
Thea was lying on her side, head in the crook of her elbow. I blinked hard, could just make out her face in the low, swinging safety light of the hatchway. It was still night. My pillow was damp. I didn’t remember falling asleep.
‘What?’
‘You were crying.’
‘Oh.’ I heard Mutter Scheck cough and turn over in her berth. ‘Maybe I was dreaming.’
Thea reached out. I felt the gentle touch of her thumb on my cheek. ‘Your face is wet.’
I pulled away, felt the beam dividing our berth press against the back of my head. ‘Did I wake you?’
‘No. The ship woke me. I haven’t slept a night through yet.’
‘I never sleep well anyway,’ I said. ‘Even back at home. Ever since my parents separated Matthias and me.’
‘You shared a bed?’
‘Until we were ten. Mama said that even as babies we would cry all night if put in separate cribs, and so Papa made a cot large enough for the both of us. They gave us separate beds when we grew, but I would always climb out and find Matthias. I’d crawl in next to him, and then get back in my own bed by morning.’
I waited for Thea to say something, but she only smiled, waiting for me to continue. I felt a wave of affection for her then, the way she listened so absolutely.
‘For years, we found ways to sleep together. But then he was moved to the loft. I went up there sometimes, but’ – I hesitated, feeling a little flush of shame at the memory of Mama’s expression – ‘Mama found me there and forbade it.’
Thea wriggled closer to me. ‘I wish I had a twin.’
I heard Mutter Scheck cough again and raised my head to see if she was awake, but it was too dark to tell.
‘She can’t hear you,’ Thea whispered. ‘Everyone’s asleep but us. If she heard us talking, we’d know about it.’
I felt her smile in the dark and smiled back at her.
‘It must be nice having Matthias. Someone who knows you to your marrow. Someone who loves you as you are.’
‘We used to hold hands, too,’ I said, my voice more breath than sound. ‘As we slept, or when one of us was scared, or simply because we wanted to. But we can’t now.’
We listened to the groaning of boards. The whistle of the wind. Someone was snoring loudly in the main steerage quarters. ‘Who is that?’
‘Probably Eleonore Volkmann.’
I laughed.
‘What? She has such large nostrils. Have you noticed how she flares them whenever her husband orders her about? Like a horse.’
‘Shh, Henriette will hear you.’
‘Henriette has them too. And her sisters. A whole stable of nostrils.’
I snorted and both of us clapped our hands to our mouths.
The ship lurched then. A baby started crying. Thea rolled against me, and even though the ship began to surge and I heard the muted calling of the night watch above us upon the deck, my heart did not beat with fear, but with a pattern of sudden longing I did not understand.
Thea’s hand searched for mine in the dark. I threaded my fingers through hers.