I suppose that is what you’ve always wanted. As a little girl, you were always desperate to come along when we took the cheese to market. I never understood why; the others weren’t like that. Four hours on a barge to get to town and another four back.’
‘Crying because I wanted to stay.’
We look at each other and smile.
‘Well, you should do what you want to do. You’re not a little girl any more, I can’t stop you,’ my mother says after a short pause. ‘It’s just …’
In the silence that follows, I study her expression. ‘What is it?’
‘People are talking.’
‘People in villages always talk, that’s another reason I want to leave. I’ve had more than enough of all the gossiping and meddling.’
A look of resignation appears on my mother’s face. ‘I’ll miss you,’ she says. ‘But maybe it is better that you go.’
A week later everything is sold. Govert and I had been renting the farmhouse and land but the animals and furniture belonged to us. During the auction, which takes place on the farm’s threshing floor, I see my possessions pass into other people’s hands. The proceeds – around a hundred guilders – are welcome. They’re enough to keep me going for a while and maybe set up a business. Perhaps painting pottery. That has always been a dream of mine. As a little girl I decorated furniture with beetroot juice. Later on, when I was given commissions by rich farmers and important people from the village and started decorating dressers and foot warmers for them, I used real paint.
‘It reminds me of those colourful pieces they make up in Hindeloopen,’ Cornelis Vinck, the notary said one day. ‘You’ve got talent, Cat. You should try selling a few things up in town.’
‘I can’t, sir. I’m not a member of the guild,’ I said.
‘At the annual fair in September out-of-towners are allowed to sell whatever they like. As long as they don’t set up their own business.’
In my scarce free time I started painting plates and footstools, which I did end up managing to sell quite easily at the fair.
From that day on I longed for the city.
I’ve only known a few villagers leave De Rijp and they were boys who signed on for VOC ships or went off to become whalers. In the neighbouring village of Graft, there was a girl who found a job as a housemaid in Alkmaar and that seemed like a good idea for me too. Of course, life as a housemaid is hard work, but at least I wouldn’t be stuck here with nothing but reeds and mud as far as the eye can see. Town is where things happen, there are amusements and diversions, the people there really live and I long to be part of it. I heard from Emil and Bertha, friends who live in Alkmaar, that a rich resident of the city was in need of a housekeeper. A few weeks ago, when I had to go into town for the cheese market, I walked over to Oudegracht to offer my services. To my astonishment and delight, I was hired on the spot.
I look around the barn, at the early morning light that falls on the packed earth floor. The possessions which had been piled up here have been taken away by their new owners. The only things I still have are a few trinkets and some clothes.
Outside in the farmyard, my parents and brothers stand waiting in the morning mist. As the only surviving daughter, I could always rely on their care and protection and I see from the boys’ faces that they’re not happy I’m leaving. There’s a big age gap between Dirk, my eldest brother, and Laurens, left by a number of miscarriages and brothers and sisters who died young. Maybe that’s why Laurie is the one I’m most attached to; we’re the ones who had to make up for those losses.
Our parting is brief. I hug everyone, my parents the longest. Laurie has to go to Alkmaar too and will be accompanying me. A good idea now that I’m carrying so much money.
‘We’ll see each other again soon,’ says my father. ‘I’m bringing a load up to Alkmaar next week.’
‘See you then, Pa. You know where I’ll be.’
Another kiss, a hug, and we set off. Laurie takes the bundle with my things under his arm and we walk along the East Dyke, which leads to the quay. I look back a couple of times and wave to my family. My heart is full but I have no regrets.
It’s a long journey to Alkmaar. Squashed in between the cargo, huddled together for warmth, we watch the polder landscape of flat, neatly laid-out fields and ditches go by. The barge doesn’t go particularly fast, but I’m used to that. I’ve made this journey many times. I know every bend in the canal, every hamlet we pass. On some stretches there’s hardly any wind and we make so little progress that the bargee has to use his pole. He leans on the bargepole with his whole weight, works it into the mud at the bottom and levers the boat forward.
I sit next to my brother and point out things I notice in the landscape. I don’t get much response.
‘So you’re not coming back then?’ says Laurie, just as I’m about to give up my efforts to start a conversation.
‘Of course I will. Now and again.’
‘If I were you, I wouldn’t stay in Alkmaar. Mart is turning the whole village against you.’
‘Do they believe him?’
‘I don’t know.’ He’s quiet for a moment, then says: ‘You could go to Haarlem or Amsterdam instead.’
Now it’s my turn to pause. ‘So far away?’ I say quietly.
‘It isn’t that far really. What I mean to say, Cat, is that you mustn’t let us hold you back. If another town is … better for you, that’s where you have to go. We know what’s being said about you is nonsense, but not everyone is convinced.’
‘I should have stayed in mourning for longer, cried more.’ I look up at my brother. ‘Is it a sin to be glad someone’s dead?’
Laurie puts his arm around my shoulders and gives me a squeeze. ‘No,’ he says, ‘in this case I’d say it’s only human.’
We sail along the shore of Alkmaar Lake and pass the lock at Akersloot. Rays of sunlight pierce the mist, breaking up the grey haze and bringing a little warmth. A stiff breeze fills the sails and drives the boat through the waves. In the distance, the towers and city walls of Alkmaar are visible, and the gallows field.
A shudder goes through me when I see the sinister posts with their dangling corpses. I quickly turn my gaze to the hustle and bustle of the port further up by the Customs Tower, where incoming goods are weighed and taxed by the city authorities.
The broad expanse of the River Zeglis stretches out glistening in the sun ahead of us. On the banks on either side, swarms of people are walking towards the city, a man is driving a couple of pigs in front of him. Carts lurch and crash over the potholes, a beggar narrowly manages to jump out of the way of their wheels.
The barge moors up just outside the city walls. Laurie and I struggle to our feet and pay the skipper. A few minutes later, we cross the small wooden bridge leading to Tree Gate. We say goodbye at the Customs Tower.
