After the Ashes (9 page)

Something important passed between them. The air around me changed the tiniest bit.

Mrs. De Groot took a deep breath. “Did you know, Little Katrien, that my family—and Mr. De Groot's—have been in the East Indies since the 1600s?”

I shook my head. I knew my Dutch history well enough to know the Dutch East India Company had started back then, and that the government took over the colony in 1800 when the company went bankrupt. But I never really thought about the people involved. I suppose that was true for all history. What did we know about average Greek or Roman citizens?

“Over the course of these last two hundred years,” Mrs. De Groot went on, “my family eventually settled in Besuki in East Java.”

I had never heard of Besuki, but I nodded, not wanting to interrupt her story.

“In 1815, Mount Tambora erupted.”

“Mount Tambora?” I asked. “That's on Sumbawa island, isn't it? It's not on Java.”

“No,” Mrs. De Groot said. “It's not on Java. Lombok and Bali—two different islands—are between Sumbawa and Java. Which is why you should pay close attention to my story.”

My eyebrows rose at her imperious tone, but I said nothing.

“Don't scare the girl, Marijn,” Mr. De Groot said.

She glared at him. “Sometimes fear is a good lesson to learn, Hubrecht.” He grimaced, and she continued. “My mother was twelve years old when Mount Tambora erupted. She used to tell me stories about it. Terrifying stories that would keep me up until dawn.”

“What kind of stories?” I whispered, rubbing my arms where gooseflesh had appeared.

“Stories about falling ash and darkened skies. A terrible wave that washed onshore and dragged people from their homes and into the ocean. Her three youngest sisters were swept away and never seen again. She said the noise was so loud she thought a battle
was happening somewhere on the sea.” Mrs. De Groot's whole body shook.

Her husband placed a hand on her shoulder. “Don't worry, Marijn. We'll be safe.”

She regained her composure. “They had warning. Mount Tambora first erupted three years before that. Small eruptions from a volcano everyone thought was dormant. They could have left.”

I tilted my head, confused.

She clutched my shoulders and shook me. “We have a chance to leave, too. Before Krakatau erupts again.” A chill ran down my spine like a spider scurrying from a lizard.

“Marijn!” Mr. De Groot pried his wife's fingers from me and held her close. “Shhh,” he soothed. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Where are you going to go?” I asked.

Mr. De Groot answered. “Batavia first. Then we'll see.”

“Would you go to the Netherlands?”

“No.” He sat up straighter. “We're Javanese. We'll stay on this island until we die.”

This I understood. My family had not lived here as long as theirs. Vader had come to Anjer from the Netherlands not long after he married my mother. Oom Maarten requested a transfer to Batavia a few years later, and of course, Tante Greet came after my mother died.

Even after all the years in Java, Vader, Tante Greet and Oom Maarten still considered themselves more Dutch than Javanese. But I was born here. I loved everything about Java. It was my home.

Mr. De Groot stood and escorted his shaken wife inside the house. Then he returned carrying another trunk. Helping him load it into the wagon, I said, “I will miss you when you leave.”

“We'll miss you, Little Katrien.”

“Who will feed the macaques?” I asked.

Glancing up at the bare sticks in the trees, he smiled. “They can take care of themselves. Of that, I am sure.”

“Do you really believe Krakatau will erupt like Mount Tambora?”

He nodded and scratched his beard. “It may be next week or
next year or ten years from now. But it will erupt. I grew up in Yogyakarta, in the shadow of Mount Merapi. It erupts all the time. I know what volcanoes can do.” He patted my shoulder, climbed the steps, and with a deep sigh walked inside his home.

I pushed my spectacles up and stared at the smoke from Krakatau. Was it really that dangerous? Did it pose as much of a threat as Mount Tambora? Forty kilometers no longer seemed that far away.

On the Origin of Species
lay open, unread, across my lap. A soft breeze cooled the air pleasantly around me, but the dark plume of smoke from Krakatau kept me from concentrating on Mr. Charles Darwin.

The view from our porch normally delighted me, but not now.

Instead, visions of people being washed away filled me with dread and fear.

Surely Mrs. De Groot had embellished her story a bit? Or if not Mrs. De Groot, then her mother? How could a wave drag people into the ocean from their homes? Perhaps those homes were already on the shore?

I pushed up my spectacles. If only I had seen Krakatau's eruption in May. Then I would have something to reference beyond other people's stories. I would have what I had witnessed with my own eyes. I would have facts.

Tante Greet stepped onto the porch with a basket clutched in her hand. “Indah made a bit too much rice, so I'm taking some of it to Mrs. Schoonhoven. Along with some fruit. And I have Niels's lunch.” Another basket hung from her elbow.

I nodded.

“Would you like to join me?” she asked, and I had a feeling I was being tested. This was one of those spiderwebs of a question and I
needed to navigate it carefully. But Mrs. De Groot's story had me all jumbled up, and I couldn't see my way around the trap.

“No,” I said bluntly.

Tante Greet's disappointment showed in the firm set of her mouth. “It would be polite to visit Mrs. Schoonhoven with me.” She held the basket higher. “To help those less fortunate.”

“Did you know the De Groots are leaving?” I asked, changing the subject.

She dropped her arm and took a step toward me, the basket hanging by her fingertips. “I did. They told me last week. I . . . I didn't know how to tell you. I know how much you like them.”

“Did they tell you why they're leaving?”

“No, and I didn't ask.”

“Krakatau.”

She shook her head. “I suppose it is their choice to do as they wish.” She patted her hair. “You look presentable, Katrien, since you didn't go to the jungle. Come with me to see Mrs. Schoonhoven, and then we'll bring Niels his lunch.”

I sat up. “I'll take Vader's lunch to him. So he won't have to wait, and you can spend more time with Mrs. Schoonhoven.”

We watched as the loaded wagon pulled away from the De Groots' house, their silver heads bobbing with each lurch. “Did they tell you where they're going?” Tante Greet asked, waving as they passed us.

I waved, too. “Batavia,” I said.

When I turned to reach for Vader's lunch, she jumped. “What are you doing?”

“I said I was going to take Vader his lunch. Do you mind?”

She shook her head, distracted. Her eyes followed the De Groots' wagon. “Fine, fine.”

When the De Groots turned the corner, Tante Greet snapped out of her trance. “Please see if we have any mail when you see Niels.”

Turning abruptly, she strode down the porch steps and down
the street. I watched until she disappeared around the corner where Mr. Vandermark's home sat. She kept her face turned away from his blazing red doors the entire time.

With Vader's lunch under my arm, I put
On the Origin of Species
inside and set off for the post office, where the postmaster greeted me warmly.

“Ah, Katrien,” the postmaster said, smiling. “I have two letters for your family.” He handed over two envelopes, both of them from Oom Maarten.

Stepping back outside, I opened the one addressed to me and leaned against the wall to read in the shade.

To the lovely Katrien
,

I believe I have finally narrowed my wallpaper choices to four candidates. First, the green vines that you like, though of course without added drawings of beetles—how could I sit in the parlor with terrifying, enormous bugs staring at me?

“Insects,” I murmured with a grin.

Second, the yellow and orange tulips that Greet preferred. Third, a pale blue-and-gold filigree that I don't recall either of you seeing. And finally, a red damask. My inclination is to choose the red—if only because I know Greet would abhor it. And what else can a younger brother do but annoy his older sister? Some things never cease to entertain!

I am sorry to hear about your punishment, as I am sure that girl deserves your wrath. It's certain that you have never done anything to bedevil her, have you?

I swallowed. Oom Maarten's gentle reprimand reminded me that I wasn't entirely innocent in my fights with Brigitta. But that didn't change the unfairness of my punishment. As far as I knew, she hadn't suffered at all.

Perhaps in the future you could try a new approach. The next time you see her, place your hand over your mouth and nose. This will serve two purposes
:
You will remember not to speak—thereby avoiding any regrettable verbal exchanges—and she will think she stinks. To be fair, she probably does—if not literally then quite certainly in a figurative sense
.

Your brilliant uncle—M

I laughed and tucked the note in my pocket. The other letter I placed in the basket with Vader's lunch before skipping off down the road toward his office.

As fate would have it, I soon realized that none other than Brigitta herself was walking ahead of me in the same direction. I hoped she wouldn't notice me, but no such luck. She must have caught me in her peripheral vision because she suddenly wheeled around and sneered at me. “Katrien, where are you off to? Surely not the jungle. I understand you're not allowed to go there anymore.”

How did she know that? Did my aunt tell her mother? No wonder I always felt off balance around Brigitta; she knew more about me than I did. And blast my aunt for talking about me behind my back. My punishments should not be made into conversational fodder for the Burkart family!

“That's not true, Brigitta. I can go two times a week. I chose not to go today.”

“Two times? My, my, my.”

I bit my tongue and walked past her.

Her voice stopped me in my tracks. “Since you're not gallivanting around like a wild animal, are you at least learning some useful skills?”

Useful skills? That was rich coming from her. The only useful skill I knew she possessed was her talent to perpetually insult me and get away with it. I could not stay silent any longer. I turned around and glared. “And what would you consider a useful skill?” I demanded. “Staring in the mirror?”

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I realized Brigitta
had done it again. She was always able to bait me into saying something that she would later claim had hurt her feelings. Not that she truly had any feelings to hurt, but now she had the perfect excuse to run and tattle to her father about how mean I had been, and her father would tell Vader.

This time, though, Brigitta surprised me by responding with a smile. “My goodness, Katrien, there are so many skills you could learn. Needlework, sewing, cooking, gardening . . .”

I shook my head. She thought those were useful skills? “Nothing you know could ever be considered useful,” I said angrily. “It's not as if knowing how to embroider is going to save someone's life.”

Brigitta gasped and turned as red as Mr. Vandermark's door. Good.

I whirled off before she could recover.

When I reached Vader's office, the door was closed, meaning he was out. I waited outside and scanned the horizon. Krakatau's cloud of smoke appeared even darker now. Or was that my imagination?

“Katrien. What a pleasant surprise.” Vader's voice startled me from the doorway, and I jumped.

Clutching his lunch to my chest, I said, “You're here.”

He opened the door and ushered me inside. “I do apologize. I didn't mean to frighten you.”

I shook my head. “I'm fine.”

“You must have been deep in serious thought not to notice me.” He sat down at his desk, but I remained at the counter. “It's a beautiful afternoon,” he said. “I should have had the door open.”

I nodded, feeling my worries about the volcano slip away in Vader's company.

He straightened some papers. “Did you go exploring today?”

“No.”

“Whyever not? You haven't been to the jungle once this week.”

His question reminded me that I had something to discuss with him. I got straight to the point. “Why can't I spend any more time with Slamet?” I demanded.

“Greet spoke to you, then?”

I nodded.

“Did she not explain our reasons?”

“
Ja
, but they're silly. How is being friends with Slamet going to prevent me from finding a husband? I don't even want a husband.”

“Not now you don't, no. But, later, you will change your mind.”

I arched my eyebrows. “I suppose you want me to be friends with other girls my age, too?” I bumped my foot against the counter. “You know I don't like those girls. They're all empty-headed dodos.”

“Perhaps you'd feel differently if you actually tried spending more time with them. As it happens, Thomas mentioned to me this morning that he would like Brigitta to perform more charitable works, and I think that is a fine idea for you, too. The two of you will do so together, volunteering at the convent. Perhaps that will help you overcome your differences.”

I grimaced. “That will never work.”

“Nevertheless, that is what will happen.” He smiled and slapped the desk. “It won't be as bad as you're imagining.”

“It will be worse,” I muttered. Brigitta and I would likely do more harm together than good.

“Did you come down here merely to ask about Slamet? It could have waited until after supper.”