Anna's Crossing: An Amish Beginnings Novel by Suzanne Woods Fisher

he could do was sit on the next-to-the-last step and hold his sore ear as tears jumped out of his eyes. His throat wouldn’t quit jerking up and down and making weird noises.
    Suddenly Catrina was right in front of him. “What’s going on? What’d you do?”
    Scowling at her, he blew past her and went to sit near hismother. For now, he would stay in the lower deck, but he’d had a taste of another world—and he was going back to it.
    By the second day of crossing the channel, Felix had become adept at keeping out of sight. He had slipped up onto the upper deck and hid behind the capstan. He looked up, squinting against the glare of the sun. The sky was so wide and empty and blue it hurt to look at it. Up here, the wind was blowing strong, and he had to anchor down his hat by jamming it hard over his ears. Unfortunately, a sailor spotted him from the rigging and shouted down at him. Felix barely made it down the companionway before Squinty-Eye could make a grab for him and toss him down the open hatch. He knew he had to be more careful . . . and that was when he started to become aware of the stroking of the ship’s bells.
    By paying attention to the bells, Felix learned the rhythm of the ship. One seaman had the duty of watching the hourglass and turning it when the sand had run out. When the seaman turned the glass, he struck the bell as a signal: Once at the end of the first half hour of a four-hour watch, twice after the first hour, three times after an hour and a half, four times after two hours had passed, until eight bells marked the end of the four-hour watch. The process was repeated for each succeeding watch. Whenever the bells sounded, all sailors stopped in their tracks and strained to listen.
    Felix learned when to stay out of sight as lookouts were being relieved, and he discovered when he could safely prowl around because the seamen were distracted with their duties. He grew fascinated by the tangle of ropes that raised and lowered the sails. The lines attached to the triangle sheets reminded him of intricate spiderwebs that he used to find back in his barn in Ixheim. Once or twice, he ventured fromhis hiding places to peer over the railing. The channel water swept flat and blue to the far edge of the world. England.
    If Felix could remember to leave his telltale black felt hat down below, and if he stayed in the shadows up above, making himself as small as possible, crouching low, quiet as a mouse, he was almost invisible and could stay hidden for hours. He was captivated by the goings-on above deck. He could tell the difference between the officers and the seamen. The seamen dressed in sloppy, loose clothing. Most were barefoot. There were two officers—the tall young one who wore long black boots and a short old man with gray hair and droopy eyes. Still no sign of the captain. Johann had said the captain would be wearing a tricornered hat. Felix had seen a lot of kerchiefs and plenty of wool skull caps, but no tricornered hats.
    On the third day of the channel crossing, Felix was determined to explore the Great Cabin, so he looked up and down the deck, spotted no one, and made a mad dash for the stern. He nearly had his hand on the door handle of the Great Cabin when he heard voices inside.
    Felix took off full speed for the lower deck. He didn’t see the three sailors until he’d nearly run right into them. He slowed to a stop, his knees loose, his belly quaking, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. One sailor uttered a soft curse. Felix lifted his eyes and saw a young seaman he’d heard called Johnny Reed, not much older than Peter Mast. He had a hawklike face, gaunt and high nosed. And thin. So thin he looked put together out of sticks. He wore a stocking cap over his straggly hair. The other sailor had droopy eyes and a jiggly Adam’s apple—first mate Mr. Pocock. And the third sailor was . . . Squinty-Eye. Next to him was his awful dog with its tongue hanging out.
    Felix watched now,