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I spend all week searching for work. I crisscross the whole city, from the grand houses along Mient Canal, the fanciest thoroughfare in town, to the salt works on Oudegracht and the brewery on Dove Lane. I try my luck at the city orphanage on Doelen Street and the adjoining silk-weaving workshop, then at Saint Catherine’s Cloister and various inns and taverns. I don’t care what I have to do – cleaning, fetching and carrying, nursing the sick – as long as I have a job.
The end of the week finds me sitting across from Bertha in the inn, utterly disillusioned.
‘I didn’t think it would be so hard to find work,’ I say. ‘There are jobs for men, but it’s much harder for women.’
‘You could set up on your own. A small business of some kind.’
‘Selling what? Pots and pans? The city’s full of those already.’
‘But you paint them so beautifully. And now that you’re a resident of Alkmaar, you’re allowed to set up a business.’
I shake my head. ‘You know it’s not that easy. I’d have to serve an apprenticeship, pay fees to learn and pass an exam to become a master. And that’s assuming a guild would even take me on.’
‘A woman joined the Guild of Saint Lucas a while ago – Isabella Bardesius. Now she’s a painter with her own studio.’
‘Then she’s almost certainly from a rich family that paid for her education. They don’t let you in without training, Bertha.’ I stare into space, thinking. ‘Perhaps I should take that job in the infirmary after all. That’s the only offer I’ve had.’
‘In the pest house? Are you insane?!’
‘There’s no plague. The people in there have other diseases.’
‘Yes, and they’re just as infectious and just as deadly. That would be my last resort.’
‘It is my last resort. If I don’t find something soon, I’ll have to go back to De Rijp.’
Next to us, someone clears their throat. A man of around thirty with mid-length dirty blond hair is standing by the table. ‘Hello, Bertha. Sorry for interrupting, but I couldn’t help overhear your conversation.’
‘Matthias, it’s good to see you. How are you?’ Bertha’s face breaks into a broad smile.
‘Very well, thanks,’ says the man. ‘I’m passing through on my way to Den Helder and I’ve got a few bits of business to take care of in Alkmaar.’
‘Mister Van Nulandt is one of our regular guests,’ Bertha tells me.
The man takes off his hat and bows slightly. ‘A pleasure to meet you,’ he says with a winning smile.
I nod and tell him my name. Matthias sits down on the stool opposite us.
‘It’s not a complete coincidence I was listening to your conversation,’ he tells Bertha. ‘Emil mentioned the situation. He told me a few things about your friend here and asked whether I could help.’
‘And?’ Bertha asks.
‘As it happens, I can. My brother is in need of a housekeeper. Would that suit you?’ Matthias asks, turning to me.
‘I don’t know. I mean, yes, I think so. But you don’t know me,’ I say, astounded.
‘Emil and Bertha know you, that’s good enough for me. And Emil speaks very highly of you.’
A wave of excitement bubbles up inside me. ‘A housekeeper … that would be wonderful. Who is your brother and where does he live?’
His name is Adriaan van Nulandt,’ Matthias says, ‘and he lives in Amsterdam.’
Amsterdam! The shock obviously shows on my face because Matthias asks, ‘Is that a problem?’
‘It’s so far away. I don’t know anyone there …’
‘Matthias shrugs this off. ‘It’s not that far, and once you’re there you’ll soon get to know people.’
I exchange glances with Bertha, who looks a bit flabbergasted. ‘It is an opportunity for you, Cat,’ she says. ‘And since there’s no job for you here, it’s Amsterdam or De Rijp.’
I don’t have to think for long. Even though I’m not keen on the idea of leaving everyone I love behind, I have no choice. What’s more, this is a better move for me. I would never have gone to Amsterdam on my own initiative. Perhaps it’s fate.
While I’m thinking, Matthias goes out to settle his business affairs. When he returns that evening, I go and talk to him.
‘I’ve decided to do it. I’d be very grateful if you would recommend me to your brother.’
‘Of course, I’ll write a glowing recommendation. But for that I reckon we need to get to know each other a little better. Will you join me for a drink?’
We draw up two chairs at a table in the corner and Matthias orders a jug of wine. ‘So tell me,’ he asks as he fills my cup, ‘why did you leave your village?’
I tell him everything. About my longing for the city and how that one night at the dance sent my life in a different direction. About my stillborn son and Govert’s unexpected death. Matthias listens attentively.
‘So you’re a widow,’ he says when I’ve finished. ‘A very young widow. I’m sorry about that.’
‘Oh, it wasn’t a happy marriage.’ I stare into the distance, thinking of the life I would have had if Govert hadn’t died. ‘He hit me. From the moment we were married, and more and more as time went on. I don’t know why. There was no reason for him to do it. We never argued, I didn’t answer him back, I worked hard.’ I laugh wryly. ‘I purposely made sure we didn’t argue and I never answered him back, but he hit me anyway.’ My voice betrays the bitterness I always feel when I think of all that violence.
‘Some men are like that,’ Matthias says gently. ‘But not all of them.’
‘No …’ I sigh. ‘The problem is, you can’t tell by looking whether they are or not. You only know when it’s too late, when you’re already married.’
‘Next time, if it ever happens to you again, have the rascal up before the judge. It’s illegal to beat your spouse, did you know that? It is not what God intended between man and wife.’
‘Are you married?’
‘No, and I don’t plan to be. I want to travel, see the world. I work for my brother’s company. He’s a trader and one of the directors of the East India Company. He has no desire to go off gallivanting so I do it for him.’
‘Where do you go?’
‘Italy and Norway for the most part, no long voyages. I wish I could go further. To the East, to China and the Indies. Don’t you ever wonder what’s on the other side of the world? What it looks like and how people live there?’
‘Finding out what the world outside De Rijp and Alkmaar is like is good enough for me,’ I say, and he laughs.
Maybe it’s the familiar way he talks to me, the way the skin around his eyes crinkles when he laughs or the sound of his voice that make me edge closer to him. He’s nice. Really nice. Apparently, he thinks the same of me because he keeps leaning towards me and touching me now and again as we talk. His face is alive with enthusiasm and I can’t stop looking at him. A tingling feeling spreads through my body, like little bubbles of air under my skin.
As the evening draws on, the world shrinks until all that exists is the table we’re sitting at, lit by a flickering candle. It’s long after midnight when I make a move to go to bed. Matthias walks me upstairs. On the landing he gives me a long look. The wine has weakened my resolve and when his mouth finds mine, I let him kiss me. His lips are firm yet gentle. Desire wells up in me and I throw my arms around his neck. He caresses my back in response, before letting his hand descend to my bottom and then up along my side.
It’s only when he tries to undo the laces of my bodice that I push him away, gently but firmly. He smiles regretfully.
‘I like you, Catrin.’ His mouth is by my ear. ‘A lot. I’m glad I met you. Hopefully we’ll meet again in Amsterdam.’
‘Yes, I hope so too.’
‘If my brother is so stupid as to decide not take you on, be sure to tell the maid where I can find you.’
I nod and promise that I will. We kiss again, at first softly and then with more and more feeling. I feel my body respond again, so much so that I put an end to it by stepping smartly back and opening my door. I smile at Matthias and go inside. Before I shut the door he blows me a kiss.
‘See you in Amsterdam,’ he says.
The next morning, I go down to the taproom, but to my disappointment, Matthias has already left.
‘He had an early appointment in Den Helder. Asked me to give you this.’ Emil hands me a roll of paper.
The letter of recommendation. I turn it over in my hands a couple of times. ‘Did he say anything else?’
‘That the house is on the first part of Keizersgracht and he hopes he’ll see you soon.’
I can read a bit, the pastor in De Rijp set up a class when I was little. He thought it was important to teach girls to read so they could give their children Bible lessons. I can remember enough of it that I’d be able to tell what is in the letter, but the roll is sealed.
‘You two got on well last night.’ There’s a note of enquiry in Emil’s voice.
‘Yes,’ I say with a smile. ‘Very well.’ I pretend not to notice Emil’s curiosity and choose a table at the window.
After a light breakfast of bread and cheese, I take leave of my friends.
‘My family will be shocked when they hear I’m not in Alkmaar any more,’ I say as I give Bertha a hug.
‘We’ll explain. Send word when you’ve found a job, won’t you?’
I promise I will, say goodbye to Emil and set off. I walk along Lang Street to Mient Canal and past the fishmongers’ stalls, where everything is busy and messy. Taking pains not to slip on the fish guts, I buy myself a couple of herrings. After that I head up River Street and it comes as a relief when at last I reach the River Zeglis. Much as I love the city’s liveliness, it takes some getting used to.
After asking around, I find a boat I can travel on.
‘I don’t go any further than Haarlem, mistress,’ says the captain. ‘But getting to Amsterdam from Haarlem isn’t difficult, you can just take the water coach.’
I’ve heard of water coaches, though I’ve never been on one because they don’t run as far as Alkmaar. According to the captain, they work perfectly. From Midway they’ve dug a long, straight ditch alongside the water for the horses pulling the barges. ‘All the way to Amsterdam,’ he says.
I pay him the required coins, allow my bag to be carried on board and climb aboard myself. I find a spot among the baskets and crates and settle down on the blanket laid out by the captain for passengers to sit on.
Wrapped in my cloak with the hood up over my head, I watch as the city gets smaller. I’ve never been further than Alkmaar before and have no idea what awaits me in Amsterdam. The only thing I do know is that I will have to face whatever it is entirely alone.
4
The journey to Haarlem takes all day. It’s only once we pass Beverwyck and are on Wyck Lake that we start making decent headway. Once we get to Spaarndam we rely on locks and canals again, but by then Haarlem is in sight. It’s almost dark and I’m exhausted. When the boat moors at Gravestone Bridge I get up stiffly and clamber onto the quay. I’m so tired I stagger into the first inn I see. Fortunately, there’s still a bed free. I don’t care that I have to share a room.
In the taproom, sitting beside the fire and with a hot meal in front of me, I come round a little. Out of the corner of my eye I see men staring at me. I make sure I avoid eye contact and appear as unapproachable as possible, which isn’t difficult, given how tired I am. To my relief, they leave me in peace. As the evening wears on, the mood gets rowdy, but by then I’m already in bed. Despite the long day I’ve had, it takes a while to fall asleep. I lie with my eyes closed and listen to the snores and breathing of my roommates and the racket from the taproom. My thoughts turn to my family and suddenly I find myself thinking back to when I was little.
I nearly drowned once as a child. During a violent winter storm, the dykes protecting Waterland from the sea burst, followed by the ring of canals protecting the Beemster. Many people and animals died, and mud-built farms with thatched roofs were washed away. The somewhat higher centre of De Rijp was spared, even if the well-to-do people there didn’t manage to keep their respectable feet entirely dry.
I was five when the flood came. I only know the details of the disaster from stories. But I still remember the feeling of powerlessness as the roof my family and I were sitting on collapsed and the water carried me away. I couldn’t swim, but it wouldn’t have made much difference anyway. As soon as the sea began to ebb, the flood carried everyone with it. Anyone who couldn’t manage to hold onto something was lost. I was fished from the waves by one of our neighbours and pulled into a boat. My parents and brothers managed to save themselves. Allie and Johanna, my two older sisters, drowned.
In the grey light of dawn, I lie and think about my family. Meanwhile, the other guests start to emerge from their beds. People yawn and mumble good mornings. Some begin chatting quietly. I get up too but don’t make the effort to talk to anyone.
I take my time getting dressed, putting on a linen blouse, skirt, apron, fichu, bodice, jerkin and cap. Now and then I glance out of the window. Outside, the quay is busy, despite the hour. Freight and passenger ships both set out at first light.
I pack my things. The letter from Matthias is among my clothes and I smile. If I get this job, I’ll see him again. A little more certain now about my decision to go to Amsterdam, I square my shoulders. If I hurry, I can still make the first barge.
Compared to yesterday’s voyage, the journey to Amsterdam is as nothing. The pleasingly short distance remaining is encouraging, and the comfort of the horse-drawn barge couldn’t be more different from the open boat that brought me from Alkmaar. There’s a deck house complete with benches where passengers can take shelter from the elements. Since we’re not dependent on the wind, we travel at an even pace. There are inns along the route where passengers can get off for a meal and the barge can take on fresh horses. The Haarlem Ship Canal stretches in a straight line through the polders past windmills and farms to Amsterdam.
From time to time, I leave the deck house to feel the wind and sun on my face and admire the beauty of the wide, cloudy skies and green meadows. Milkmaids, pedlars and travellers on horses or in carts pass by on the dyke along the canal. Occasionally, someone waves. I smile and wave back.
My nervousness only resurfaces when we reach Amsterdam. I’ve heard a lot about the city, about its size, how busy it is, and with a touch of trepidation I ask myself whether a country mouse like me belongs in such a place.
My uncertainty gives way to excitement when I see the high walls looming ahead. I gaze in awe at the windmills atop the bastions, their sails spinning at top speed.
It’s busy at the entryways and on the water, as if the whole world is on its way to Amsterdam. The mighty IJ bay, an arm of the sea reaching far inland, is clogged with cranes, flat-bottomed barges, market boats and fishing vessels. Just beyond the pales that fence off the harbour, merchant ships lie at anchor, sterns gleaming in the sunlight. The last leg of our journey follows the shore of the IJ and we moor at Herring Merchants’ Gate.
I grab my things and allow someone to help me ashore. Much as I would like to go directly to Keizersgracht and search for Van Nulandt’s house, I’m too tired and hungry. Having decided to go and have something to eat first, I order a simple meal at City Inn on a jetty in the IJ.
I wolf down the fish and bread, pay at the counter and carry on up the quay.
So this is Amsterdam, the centre of the world. What a crowd, what a commotion! Boat masts loom up into the sky as far as the eye can see; the quay is covered in bales, crates and baskets that have been unloaded and people calling and shouting out over each other.
Curious to explore the rest of the city, I turn right, walk over the quayside known as Damrak and reach a large square with a wooden town hall and a weighing-house. There are traders everywhere, I hear all kinds of languages. An outlandishly dressed man with a scarf around his head and a little monkey on his shoulder walks past me, magnificently dressed women greet each other and exchange pleasantries. I breathe it all in. Far from scaring me, the cacophony fills me with joy. This is where it is all happening, this is where different worlds meet.
I stand in the middle of the square, drinking in the bewildering new world around me, and know I will never go back to my hometown.
In contrast to Damrak, Keizersgracht appears brand new. The gaps between the paving stones have yet to be touched by dirt, the paint on the doors and window frames is gleaming and the cobblestones look like they’ve not long been cut. Young linden trees have been planted along the canal. One day I’m sure they will lend Keizersgracht even more grandeur, but for now the saplings droop a little sadly against their supports.
I’ve asked around to find out where the Van Nulandt family lives and now find myself gazing up at the gable of their enormous house. Somewhat nervous, I ascend the front steps and let the knocker fall against the door. A young girl opens it and regards me with undisguised curiosity.
‘I’m Catrin Barentsdochter and I have a letter for Mister Van Nulandt from his brother.’
The girl puts her hand out for the letter but I shake my head. ‘I would prefer to give it to him myself.’
‘I’ll tell the master.’ She lets me in and disappears into the passage.
While I’m waiting, my eyes wander around the hall, taking in the carved wood winding staircase, the paintings on the walls and the expensive vases on the side tables.
A door opens and a man of around forty dressed in sombre black approaches me. I curtsy and repeat my message.
‘A letter from my brother? Why, has something happened?’ asks Adriaan van Nulandt in alarm.
‘No, don’t worry,’ I say. ‘We met in Alkmaar, where he was staying overnight, and got to talking. I said I was looking for a job and your brother said he might know of something for me.’
Adriaan van Nulandt takes the letter, breaks the seal and reads it. Halfway through he takes his eyes from the letter, sizes me up, and then carries on reading. ‘So you’re hoping for a position as a housekeeper,’ he says once he’s finished.
‘Yes, sir.’
I come under his scrutiny once more, for longer this time. ‘Follow me,’ he says.
He leads me into a beautifully decorated chamber. There’s an oak table with six chairs, but he makes no move to sit down. Instead he perches on the edge of the table and leaves me to stand. With my head held high, I endure Van Nulandt’s appraisal.
‘Give me one good reason why I should employ you,’ he says finally.
‘I’m no stranger to hard work, sir.’
‘My brother writes you’re a farmgirl. You don’t look like one.’
By way of reply, I show him my raw, calloused hands. He spares them only a cursory glance before looking me directly in the eye for a long time. His penetrating gaze makes me nervous, even though I don’t let it show. I return his gaze as calmly as possible, only to cast my eyes down when it becomes unbearable.
Finally, Mister Van Nulandt breaks the silence. ‘Tell me about yourself. What brings you to Amsterdam?’
‘I’m a widow, sir. I could have remarried, but I always wanted to live in the city. Friends found me a situation in Alkmaar but it didn’t go through. I had resigned myself to returning to De Rijp when I was fortunate enough to meet your brother. It was as if God steered me into his path.’
This last addition is a nice touch; it emphasises my piety. The paintings around me are all of religious subjects so it should please Van Nulandt. I look up to meet his eyes and see a glimmer of respect. That gives me courage.
‘You could try me out for a few days,’ I say.
His face betrays no emotion. ‘You’re not shy, Catrin Barentsdochter.’
‘I know what I’m capable of, sir.’
Van Nulandt skims the letter again, then sets it aside. ‘I need someone who can keep house and manage the maid. I can give you a monthly salary of twenty stivers with room and board. You’ll have a day off every two weeks. When can you start?’
‘At once, sir.’
‘Good, then I’ll give you a chance, Catrin,’ Adriaan says. ‘I shall introduce you to my wife. Follow me.’
