Love's Odyssey (16 page)

I will like him, she vowed. Margitte and her cousins had called him handsome. Not important, maybe, for Pieter had been the best-looking man she'd ever met. Still, a comely man was pleasant to see. Hendrik had already proved himself kind. It could be she'd grow to love him—she'd heard love often came after marriage.

I'll not dream uselessly of a man who doesn't want me, she assured herself. I won't talk of Adrien or think of him. But as she drifted into sleep, the last thing she saw was Adrien's face above hers as he had held her there on the Southland shore.

Margitte adapted one of her gowns to fit Romell, taking a tuck here and shortening it there until she was satisfied. By the time the ship anchored off Batavia, Romell was dressed as befitted a lady.

How strange it feels, she thought, to wear this weight of clothing again-—the white gown, the petticoats, the chemise, the sleeves and the stockings, and a lace-trimmed white cap to hide her short hair. Fortunately, Margitte's feet were bigger than hers, so her white slippers didn't pinch Romell's not-completely-healed feet.

Romell left the cabin on Margitte's arm, blinking as the sunlight dazzled her.

"Mind, now," Margitte whispered, "no good will come of telling Mijnheer van der Pol what happened on that island with Pieter. It was nothing you could help, anymore than could I. I didn't tell anyone about Jan."

Romell turned her head to stare at Margitte. Tell Hendrik? Would he ask? Romell tightened her grip on Margitte's arm. She hadn't thought she'd ever have to discuss that time on the castaway island with anyone.

"Men don't like to know about other men," Margitte warned, then raised her voice. "Tima, come and help."

But it was Adrien's arm that was offered to Romell, Adrien who helped her off the ship. Romell couldn't look at him, only too conscious of the pounding of her heart as she responded to his touch . . . even now, though she knew better.

"Are you all right? You look wonderful," he told her.

"I—I'm quite recovered," she managed to say before Margitte was between them, fussing over Romell.

When Romell stood on the dock, she glanced about for Adrien, thinking she must thank him for all he'd done, but she didn't see him. Instead, a gigantic Dutchman caught her eye. He swept off his broad-brimmed hat.

"
Mejuffrouw
Wellsley?" he asked.

Romell gazed at him in fascination. Not only was he one of the tallest men she'd ever seen, but he was also massively built. The sun blazed down on his golden hair and turned his pale blue eyes a strange no-color. She swallowed and nodded, knowing what he would say.

"I am Hendrik van der Pol."

Chapter 16

Romell immediately liked the Dutch family who were to be her hosts. Christoffel Reijts was a jolly, fat VOC merchant nearing forty. His wife, Elysabet, was younger, but also plump and good-natured. Their ten-year-old son, Johan, was in Holland with his grandparents, since "the air here doesn't agree with him," but the baby, Sara, toddled happily about, her pink cheeks glowing with health.

Romell’s own health improved rapidly--she'd never seen so much food served just for one family. The rijst tafel, rice table, covered an entire table with serving dishes. Besides the rice, there were tiny, inch-long fish in red sauce, shrimp, blue beans, unfamiliar brightly colored fruits, a fish delicacy wrapped in pastry, and whatever else the cook happened to buy from the food peddlars.

"Ah, it's good to see you eat," Elysabet told Romell, giggling as she spoke. "You soon will be a proper Dutch bride for Hendrik."

The Reijts' large frame house had an imposing verandah in front, tile floors, and a huge living room with high ceilings. The two-story building was L-shaped, with a garden and fruit trees in the back enclosed by the house wing and a covered walk leading from the back porch to the kampong, a long, low building set at right angles to the house.

"Do the servants live there?" Romell asked Elysabet when she was first shown about the grounds.

"The servants' quarters, yes, but the storeroom, too, and the kitchen and bath." Elysabet opened a door marked bath and Romell saw a stone-walled cistern in the middle of the room with a small bucket next to it.

She smiled, thinking of the early days in Virginia, before her father had built the brick house. The arrangements for bathing had been much the same except for a water barrel in place of the cistern.

"I admit it's not Amsterdam." Elysabet sighed. "But one must adapt to the country where one lives."

"I think your home is lovely," Romell assured her. "I like Batavia."

It was the truth. Although, in Romell's eyes, the Dutch had done their best to turn Batavia into a miniature Amsterdam, complete with canals, she found Java exciting. The Reijts, like the other Dutch, lived inside the walls of the VOC compound, but the houses all swarmed with Javanese servants in batik sarongs, the men wearing turbans on their heads. 

In the gardens, purple passion flowers and orange flame vines splashed color over walls and porches. Doves cooed and parakeets chattered from cages hanging among a wild profusion of orchids growing under the eaves.

Romell immediately began to learn to speak Javanese since none of the servants seemed to know more than a few Dutch words.

"Oh, they understand better than they let on," Elysabet insisted. "They could speak a Christian language if they wished." She shook her head, looking at her Jongens Sato, her Number One Boy, as she talked to Romell.

Romell wasn't accustomed to talking about servants where they could hear what was said. Sir Thomas had never done so and neither had her father.

"I'd like to learn their language though," she said politely.

Elysabet shrugged. "I'd find it terribly dull, but do as you wish."

"Want to learn the native tongue, do you?" Christoffel chuckled indulgently when his wife told him about Romell’s odd notion. "Can't see it will do any harm. Know a bit myself. One thing you must remember at the start, these people don't have plurals to their words—they just repeat the word. They say orang for man, for example, two or more men is orang-orang."

As it turned out, Elysabet had picked up quite a bit of Javanese in order to be able to direct her servants. She didn't think of it as "speaking the language," but she started Romell off with a basic housekeeping vocabulary.

"Nonee, that's miss, what they call you. Once you marry Hendrik, you'll be Nonya Besar, Mrs. Big, just as I am. Hendrik and Christoffel are Tuan Besar, Lord Big." Elysabet giggled. "I suppose to Javanese eyes we must seem superior in all ways, not simply in size."

"Do you really think so?" Romell asked.

Elysabet stared. "These are heathens, worshipping false gods. They even offer food to dolls made of rice straw. Of course we're superior."

Romell hadn’t meant exactly that, but she didn’t go on with the discussion. It was difficult enough to understand the Dutch, how could she ever hope to know want an even more alien people thought?

"The storeroom is the godown," Elysabet went on, "and if you buy anything you must always bargain. You ask how much—brapa—and then refuse to pay what they ask. Offer less. You'll soon get the feel of it."

Hendrik visited Romell every day, and as soon as she could get about without hobbling, he took her for walks, or for drives in a small trap driven by a miniature horse she learned had come from China. They never went outside the compound.

"Why do all the Dutch live inside the walls?" she asked. "Are the Javanese dangerous? Everyone has them here as servants and many of them live in the kampongs by the houses."

He laughed and patted her hand. Walking beside the tall Dutchman, Romell often felt like a child and he frequently treated her like one, although he wasn't yet forty.

"Don't worry your pretty little head about danger. We've got a fully armed garrison at headquarters. At that, the soldiers aren't here entirely because of the natives. We must protect ourselves from the English and the Portuguese, as well as those damned Chinese pirates."

She nodded. Her father had often spoken of what a nuisance the French and Spanish were in America. "There will be a war over it one day, you mark my words." In any newfound land, countries would vie for power.

"The Javanese rulers don't mind the Dutch living here?" she asked.

"Not them. All they're interested in is filling their coffers with silver. We have treaties and such, trade agreements."

In Virginia, Romell’s father had told her about the Indian chief Opechancanough, who had broken the treaty agreed to between the colonists and his predecessor, Powhatan. In 1622, over three hundred colonists had died when Opechancanough's warriors attacked. Of course since then there'd been peace, more or less, between the Indians and the colonists. But those were American Indians and these were Javanese. Could natives of one land really be compared with those of another?

"Enough of such talk." Hendrik smiled down at her. "Has the dressmaker finished with your gowns? I told her she must hurry."

"I'm certain she's doing the best she can," Romell said. "I really don't feel you should have gone to such expense to provide a trousseau for me. I'll never be able to thank you enough for all you've done."

He waved his hand expansively. "I don't expect thanks from the beautiful young woman who is to be my wife." He stopped walking and took her hand. "You will marry me, Romell?"

She liked him, felt comfortable in his company. Why did she drag her now well-healed feet?

"Yes, Hendrik, I will."

"Soon? In August, perhaps?"

She looked into his light blue eyes, intent on hers. "Yes, Hendrik," she said. "In August—August thirty-first."

"Wonderful!" He broke into a delighted grin and, putting his hands about her waist, lifted her high into the air, whirling her around before he set her on her feet again.

Romell laughed, touched and surprised by his high spirits. She put a hand on his arm. "I'll do my best to be a good wife to you, Hendrik."

"You couldn't be otherwise. What do you say, my dear, to a feestje—to a little celebration? I want to let all of Batavia know we've set the date."

Romell clapped her hands. "I'd love a party. Only, I'm not certain I'd be any help to you yet in arranging--"

"I will do everything. This is my celebration for you. You shall be the honored guest." He bent and kissed her quickly on the cheek.

She took his arm and they walked on. Beyond the walls of the city mountain peaks rose smoky blue into the sky. Batavia may have been patterned after Amsterdam, but the ever-present view of the mountains and the devastating thrust of the tropical heat reminded Romell that she was in Java.

"Who is the ruler of Java?" she asked after a time.

"The VOC."

"You're teasing me, Hendrik. I mean the native ruler and you know I do."

"I do not tease you. But I will tell you that Sultan Agung of Mataram rules what we do not. We've had to show him his place, and he knows not to interfere with Batavia. We are not much interested in the Javanese except for trading with them.”

"And as servants."

"Yes, that, of course."

"When we are married, will you take me outside the compound to visit the rest of the island?" she asked.

Hendrik stopped again to stare down at her. "Whatever for? There's naught but jungles and volcanoes and rice paddies." 

"I've never seen a volcano, or a jungle, or a rice paddy."

Hendrik swept his arm in a semicircle. "You can see the mountain peaks from here--what need to go closer?" He put his arm possessively about her shoulders. "You have romantic fancies about these things, I fear. The jungles are full of tigers and large snakes, most unpleasant and dangerous. Even I avoid traveling outside the walls as much as possible."

"Then are we to stay shut up behind these walls for as long as we live in Java?" she demanded.

"No, no, perhaps someday an expedition to the central plains can be arranged. The weather there is less humid than here, so it makes a nice change. But we must go, of course, with others and with soldiers in the party. Any other way is foolish." He squeezed her shoulder and dropped his arm. "I will work hard to keep you happy, my dear."

Happy? Romell took a deep breath. She would be happy with Hendrik, of course she would.

Every day Romell talked to the Reijts' servants in their language. Sometimes the chambermaid, who always wore a flower in her hair, giggled so hard at Romell's attempts that they both wound up laughing instead of talking. But she added more Javanese words to her small vocabulary.

Romell never asked for news of Adrien, and though she looked every time she went out with Hendrik or with Elysabet, she never so much as caught a glimpse of him. Nor did Margitte come to visit.

The Dutch dressmaker finished her work, and Romell gladly wore the new gowns of thinner cotton, batiste, and fine muslin. Even so, she was always uncomfortable in Batavia's steaming heat.

"Is it cooler in the winter?" she asked.

Elysabet shook her head. "Just rainier. The rain hardly ever stops between November and March. The wet monsoons, you know."

Hendrik took Romell out in the trap the next day, she wore a white scoop-necked muslin trimmed with lace, with capelet sleeves and, daringly, only one petticoat underneath. Her hair had grown enough so she dispensed with the cap and her cinnamon curls framed her face. She carried a small waxed silk parasol.

"You're dressed like a bride," he said, taking her hand and tipping the parasol back to gaze into her eyes. "All in white, as I first saw you."

Doubt assailed Romell. Does he think me un-touched? she wondered. Will he be angry after we're married and he finds out I'm not? Can I possibly mention such a thing to him?

"Well, your fellow Englisher sailed for Sumatra today," Hendrik told her, settling back into the seat. "No place for him here. I'm surprised the widow Van Slyke put up with his company as long as she did."

"But--I thought--weren't Margitte and Adrien—that is, Mister Montgomery—to marry?"

Hendrik shook his head. "She's too wise to wed a penniless adventurer."

"Adrien isn't an adventurer!" Romell said hotly.

"No? Penniless he certainly is. But I owe the fellow eternal gratitude for your rescue. Not in my line, that sort of thing." He gazed fondly at her. "I did what I could, grant me that."

"Hendrik, of course you did. Without the ship you paid for, I'd still be—" She broke off and shuddered.

"Yes, but I can see this Montgomery fellow took your fancy, setting sail to the uncharted Southland and battling the natives to bring you out safely."

"It's you I'm going to marry," she reminded him.

"And next month!" he said, brightening. "I have plans for the party to be held two weeks from today. Everyone is invited. We will have a jolly time. As the Javanese say, make ramee-ramee—that's twice merry."

"I can hardly wait," Romell tried to sound properly enthusiastic while wondering how soon she could get away to pay a visit to Margitte. Why had Adrien left Java? Had Margitte lied to her?

Elysabet made a face when Romell suggested that they call at the Van Slyke house.

"I don't care for the woman, widow though she be. She makes great eyes at every man in sight, and men need little enough encouragement to act foolishly. Not that I worry about my Christoffel." She frowned. "At least, not much."

"I don't mind going alone," Romell said.

"Hendrik would never forgive me," Elysabet said. "He's made me promise not to let you go out alone. Still, it's strange the woman never came here to see you, advancing money as she did for your rescue. You must have grown very close aboard the Indiaman."