‘I’m sorry you feel that way,’ said Anna Maria.
A hurt, broken laugh. ‘Do you remember telling me I came so close to death I looked upon the face of God?’
‘On the ship?’
‘You told me you saw a – a stillness in my chest. Only then I was restored to you. You said it. “You looked upon the face of God.”’
‘I remember. I thought you had gone. You did go. For a moment.’
‘Well, I never saw the face of God.’
‘You might not remember such a thing.’
‘I saw Hanne’s face.’ Thea stared her down. ‘I looked upon her face.’
‘Thea,’ I whispered, and tears filled my eyes.
Anna Maria was silent. She looked up to the sloping bark above her. ‘I know you miss her.’
I buried my face in Thea’s shoulder. She smelled of fatigue and fear and sap.
Thea put a hand to her heart. ‘It hurts.’
Anna Maria closed her eyes. ‘I know.’
Thea exhaled. ‘It hurts so much.’ She seemed on a precipice. I thought again of the embroidery fluttering in the wind, dangling above the ocean.
‘It is natural that you miss her.’
Thea shook her head. She was clutching her chest as though holding bones together, stilling blood flow. ‘She still feels so close. I dream about her every night.’
‘What do you dream?’
‘Sometimes I dream that we are still in Kay. But more often I dream I wake and Hanne is lying next to me.’
The chambers of my unpumping heart filled with love and sea water.
Anna Maria raised her head, shifted her weight so that she was leaning on her elbow, studying her daughter. ‘Do you dream you wake, or do you wake?’
Thea paused. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, are these dreams, or have you seen Hanne beside you?’
Thea hesitated and I could feel the question pass through her.
‘Perhaps you have a shadow.’ Anna Maria studied Thea, bending her head to look her in the eyes. ‘You know what I mean.’
Thea’s eyes were wide in the dark. I found her hand. Squeezed it.
‘I feel her everywhere,’ she whispered. ‘I feel her here.’
‘Hanne.’
Thea nodded.
‘Here.’
‘Yes.’
‘In this shelter with us, or in your heart?’
‘Both.’
‘And does it frighten you?’
Thea shook her head.
‘Well then,’ said Anna Maria, and she leaned back again, eyes fixed on Thea. ‘There have been a few times.’
‘What do you mean?’ Thea spoke in a whisper.
Anna Maria was silent. ‘Someone. A presence, but only when you are with me. At your shoulder. Once, when you were sick and sleeping, I looked at your hand and your knuckles were white, your hand pink, as though someone were squeezing it. I wondered then.’
There was a small smile on Thea’s face. ‘I dream she holds my hand.’
‘Perhaps it is not a dream.’
They both looked down to Thea’s hands, which I held still, my fingers tight around her own. I could not hold them tight enough. I squeezed them until my bones ached.
Anna Maria inhaled slowly. ‘Do you ever talk to her?’
Thea shook her head.
‘Maybe you should. But, Thea, it would not be wise to tell anyone of this. It would be an unkindness for Hanne’s family –’
‘Of course.’
‘– and it will raise suspicions. People will doubt your faith. You know what Magdalena says of me . . .’
Thea nodded.
‘You understand?’
‘Yes.’
‘But you should talk to her. You are not afraid?’
‘No. The thought that Hanne . . .’
Tears slid down my face. I leaned forwards and rested my forehead on our entwined fingers, kissed Thea’s knuckles. I was trembling.
Anna Maria’s eyes did not leave her daughter and I wondered if she guessed then, in that moment, what we had been to each other. I wondered if it filled her with fear or whether Anna Maria, who trailed her fingers in stranger rivers, accepted that there was little she understood, and that not understanding was no reason to be fearful. I have never met anyone who so willingly surrendered to mystery, to things beyond their knowing.
‘Well,’ Anna Maria said eventually, ‘I’d best go speak with your father.’
Thea caught her sleeve as she crawled towards the opening. ‘What do I say? To Hanne?’
‘Whatever is in your heart, Thea. The dead are drawn to the heart, wellspring of love that it is.’