Everything was supervised, rationed, managed. But, as the weeks passed, I saw that Mutter Scheck, while unyielding and particular, was genuinely concerned for our health, even if that concern manifested in a public urging to take aperient pills and eat a little less salt pork and a little more oatmeal. She was affectionate towards us in her own way. Occasionally there were packets left on berths: washing soda for the girl who did not have a spare flannel; a bottle of castor oil for one who did not attend her pail as often as Mutter Scheck believed appropriate. And once, late at night, I saw her lift Ottilie onto her lap, holding her like a baby, so that Maria could swiftly exchange the damp and soiled mattress for an aired one without exposing the sick woman to the indignity of daylight.
Every Sunday Thea and I were visited by our mothers. Mama gave me Hermine in the afternoon so that she might have some respite, and after briefly telling me that everyone was managing as well as they might, she would return to her own berth. Anna Maria, however, liked to sit with Thea and me at the table or on our berth and tell us exactly what had happened since her last visit: the argument Elder Pasche had started with a sailor who spoke directly to Rosina; the rumour that a couple from Klemzig were not actually married; the dolphins she had seen swimming upside down alongside the ship; the great escape of the captain’s pig from its crate upon deck and the unease she felt watching Dr Meissner treat those who remained unwell.
‘I believe he considers the work beneath him,’ she admitted to us one afternoon, absently letting Hermine chew her finger. ‘Do you know the man Helbig, from Züllichau?’
Thea and I shook our heads.
‘Well, he is very sick. This morning, after an awful night – we could all hear him moaning – the doctor was fetched. He was conferring with the man’s wife, and an argument broke out between them. Frau Helbig was very distressed, shouting at the doctor and asking him how her husband was supposed to get better without any medicine. Everyone went quiet at that. Then we all heard Dr Meissner lose his temper and scream at this woman – this poor woman, afraid for her husband’s life.’
‘What did he say?’ Thea asked.
‘I shouldn’t repeat it.’ Anna Maria dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘He said, “Do not tell me how to do my work, bloody peasant!” And then, when he realised we had all heard him, he spat on the floor and told us we were all “a pack of dogs”。’
‘Does he not have any medicine?’ The thought that the man entrusted with our wellbeing held us in contempt made me feel deeply uneasy.
‘He does. I have seen his chest.’ She shook her head. ‘I think the truth is that he is a drunkard and that he had forgotten to give Herr Helbig treatment. The door to his cabin was ajar yesterday. I saw him asleep in there, snoring as loud as you like, no matter that it was the afternoon and children sicking up their water below decks.’
Thea inched closer to her mother on the bench. ‘Mama, can you help them?’
Anna Maria nodded, lips pressed together. ‘I have been treating some for fever.’ Looking at Thea, she added, ‘I have a little of that remedy in brandy we packed, but everything else is dry and I have trouble accessing the kitchen.’ She hesitated. ‘There are some who do not like to see me use it for distillations.’
I glanced around the bow and saw Christiana sitting with Henriette on their bunk, showing her a thimble. ‘It’s my grandmother’s,’ I heard her say. ‘She gave it to me for my hope chest.’ Henriette responded by describing the embroidery on a tablecloth.
I turned back to Anna Maria. ‘Are you talking about Magdalena Radtke?’
‘She is one of them, yes.’ The Wend followed my line of sight and, as if she felt her gaze, Christiana looked up, thimble on her index finger. There was no warmth in her face as she stared at Anna Maria.
‘Did Magdalena say something, Hanne?’ Thea asked.
‘I . . . I heard her. The night Elizabeth died.’
Anna Maria placed her palms down on the surface of the table. ‘I might have been able to help that child.’
‘Mama, perhaps if you assisted the doctor in his ministrations, these people might –’
‘I tried, Thea. He took offence. He didn’t even do me the honour of replying, only gave me a look of such utter scorn . . .’ She took a deep breath. ‘As though I haven’t birthed a multitude of children, healed those too poor to pay for the quackery of him and his kind.’ She sighed. ‘It’s all right, girls. I will help those who ask for it. Thankfully, there are some who do not share Magdalena’s poor opinion of me.’