chance, she introduced Pieter.
Francesca stood back to observe him, nodding her head in greeting as Pieter bowed.
"Adrien?" Francesca said to Romell.
With a tiny shrug, Romell shook her head. She neither knew nor cared what had become of Adrien.
When they were in the boat again, Pieter said to Romell, "They didn't like me you know."
She turned to him in surprise. "Whatever do you mean?"
"I don't speak their language," he told her, "but I knew. The moment you told Mevrouw Bonus my name I saw she recognized it and all but turned her back on me."
"Oh, Pieter, I'm certain you exaggerate."
His face took on its sullen, stubborn expression, and Romell looked away from him toward the city. In the distance she saw the tall tower of Westerkerk —West Church. Three towers, really, she thought, one atop the other, diminishing in size as they strained toward heaven.
Across the street from the canal they sailed along stood a row of grachtenhuizen—canalside houses—wider and more elegant than any Romell had seen so far. She commented on this, hoping to divert Pieter's mind from himself.
He looked up when she spoke, then stared between the linden trees lining the canal at the elegant facades of the tall houses, their ornamental gables shaped like bells or in steps to follow the roof outline. All the gables had the inevitable hoist on a beam over the attic window for lifting goods into the third-floor storage area.
"Two of the Seventeen Gentlemen of the VOC live on this street," Pieter said, pointing. "There and there. They have more money than most burghers and can pay to be allowed the extra width for another window or two."
"I understand your words, but I don't know the men you speak of or what VOC means," she told him.
"VOC stands for de Vereenighde Oost Indische Compagnie , the Dutch East Indies Company. I know you've heard of that! The Seventeen Gentlemen are the directors of the company. Eight live in Amsterdam. These two live very well, as you can see. The VOC won't be as profitable for me, you can be sure of that." Pieter's tone was bitter.
"I thought, well, aren't you to be a soldier? An officer?"
"A cadet officer. But generals, too, march to the Company's tune in Batavia. After all, the VOC has the power to build fortresses and to wage wars without even consulting the stadholder."
"You talk as if you don't want to go to Java."
Pieter shrugged, "I haven’t a choice, it seems." He stared at her a long moment, then smiled ruefully. "Forgive me for boring you. What a fool I am to parade my problems when I’m with the loveliest woman in all Amsterdam. I wish--" He broke off.
Romell smiled encouragingly. "What do you wish?"
"I wish we might sail on up the canal. Sail until we were magically transported to a land where men and women live as God intended them to. There you and I might be happy with one another."
Chapter 5
After she’d left Pieter that day, Romell thought she wouldn't accept another invitation from him, for she found her original liking for him lessening. She said nothing of this to her cousins, and Greta kept scolding her.
"You must listen, Romell, for the most precious belonging of a young woman is her reputation."
Gradually, Greta's admonitions about the proper behavior for an Amsterdam mejuffrouw shifted Romell's stance.
Pieter was certainly not evil, not dangerous, not at all the kind of person Greta saw him as, and Romell felt obligated to defend him. When, a week later, he called on her again, she decided to accept his offer of a picnic in a nearby meadow—if only to prove to Cousin Greta that Pieter was harmless.
As they walked into the countryside along a canal, Romell tried to be agreeable. "I've never seen so many windmills as I have since I've been in Holland," she said. "There are a few mills along the Thames, in London, but not so graceful-looking as these."
"They are for a purpose. They're workers. If the windmills didn't pump all the days
Francesca stood back to observe him, nodding her head in greeting as Pieter bowed.
"Adrien?" Francesca said to Romell.
With a tiny shrug, Romell shook her head. She neither knew nor cared what had become of Adrien.
When they were in the boat again, Pieter said to Romell, "They didn't like me you know."
She turned to him in surprise. "Whatever do you mean?"
"I don't speak their language," he told her, "but I knew. The moment you told Mevrouw Bonus my name I saw she recognized it and all but turned her back on me."
"Oh, Pieter, I'm certain you exaggerate."
His face took on its sullen, stubborn expression, and Romell looked away from him toward the city. In the distance she saw the tall tower of Westerkerk —West Church. Three towers, really, she thought, one atop the other, diminishing in size as they strained toward heaven.
Across the street from the canal they sailed along stood a row of grachtenhuizen—canalside houses—wider and more elegant than any Romell had seen so far. She commented on this, hoping to divert Pieter's mind from himself.
He looked up when she spoke, then stared between the linden trees lining the canal at the elegant facades of the tall houses, their ornamental gables shaped like bells or in steps to follow the roof outline. All the gables had the inevitable hoist on a beam over the attic window for lifting goods into the third-floor storage area.
"Two of the Seventeen Gentlemen of the VOC live on this street," Pieter said, pointing. "There and there. They have more money than most burghers and can pay to be allowed the extra width for another window or two."
"I understand your words, but I don't know the men you speak of or what VOC means," she told him.
"VOC stands for de Vereenighde Oost Indische Compagnie , the Dutch East Indies Company. I know you've heard of that! The Seventeen Gentlemen are the directors of the company. Eight live in Amsterdam. These two live very well, as you can see. The VOC won't be as profitable for me, you can be sure of that." Pieter's tone was bitter.
"I thought, well, aren't you to be a soldier? An officer?"
"A cadet officer. But generals, too, march to the Company's tune in Batavia. After all, the VOC has the power to build fortresses and to wage wars without even consulting the stadholder."
"You talk as if you don't want to go to Java."
Pieter shrugged, "I haven’t a choice, it seems." He stared at her a long moment, then smiled ruefully. "Forgive me for boring you. What a fool I am to parade my problems when I’m with the loveliest woman in all Amsterdam. I wish--" He broke off.
Romell smiled encouragingly. "What do you wish?"
"I wish we might sail on up the canal. Sail until we were magically transported to a land where men and women live as God intended them to. There you and I might be happy with one another."
Chapter 5
After she’d left Pieter that day, Romell thought she wouldn't accept another invitation from him, for she found her original liking for him lessening. She said nothing of this to her cousins, and Greta kept scolding her.
"You must listen, Romell, for the most precious belonging of a young woman is her reputation."
Gradually, Greta's admonitions about the proper behavior for an Amsterdam mejuffrouw shifted Romell's stance.
Pieter was certainly not evil, not dangerous, not at all the kind of person Greta saw him as, and Romell felt obligated to defend him. When, a week later, he called on her again, she decided to accept his offer of a picnic in a nearby meadow—if only to prove to Cousin Greta that Pieter was harmless.
As they walked into the countryside along a canal, Romell tried to be agreeable. "I've never seen so many windmills as I have since I've been in Holland," she said. "There are a few mills along the Thames, in London, but not so graceful-looking as these."
"They are for a purpose. They're workers. If the windmills didn't pump all the days
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