Arriving in Amsterdam

Claudia Merrill

by Claudia Merrill

Story
Amsterdam 1647

1647

The only sound in the early morning hours was the clack of my worn clogs across the tiles. Birds chirped out the cracked window, which I promptly closed to avoid one sneaking in while my back was turned.
The sunlight cast rays along the floor, illuminating the small cabinets in the kitchen. Dishes, canisters, and crockery were stacked neat and tidy inside a large oak cabinet, the long wooden table bare in the center of the room, and a pump stood close by for fresh water. Everything was in its place ready for the day, which made me smile.
I had waited for so long to find my place. For so long, I had seemed to drift through life before I suddenly found myself searching for a new home, a new life for myself. My brothers and sister had long gone on with their lives while I sat idly by and watched. Now, I was determined more than ever to make this place, this new place, feel like home.
I tied my apron around my waist with two firm knots and grabbed the broom leaning against the door frame. I started sweeping the dirt and dust toward the small doorway in the corner, kicking it out onto the street.
Merchantmen walked past, already off to their day’s work. The trees swayed in the breeze as ships sailed in. Crew hands stood on the canals, waiting to offload the crates of goods into waiting carts for market. Washerwomen walked past, their burly arms holding baskets and loads of washing, ready to be cleaned in the river. Other women walked beside them, carrying wooden pails with iron handles to be filled with water. Fishermen, merchants, and traders pushed by on boats, navigating the small canals with the help of their servants. The soft light of the morning made this new place seem fresh and light.
This place was not like Bredevoort with its lackluster landscapes and windmills sitting against the hills. My mind reeled back to my mother’s home, where I would sit at the table while she would pluck ducks and geese Pa had brought home from the day‘s work. The air was hot and stuck to me as it often did each summer.
I was in charge of skinning the rabbit Pa had hunted and had been permitted to keep. Ma whacked it onto the table in front of me. Its eyes white and rolled back, with fur matted and reeking. Grabbing the razor, I bared to skin it. The only way being if I could recall the sweet smell of summer flowers that grew across the meadows. I thought about the delicate yellow petals and honey scent. It was barely enough to cover up the smell of blood spreading across my fingers and hands. The room was quiet. Pa puffed his pipe in the armchair next to the small kitchen hearth while Mama and I worked. The house was empty that afternoon, and the stillness rattled me. 
Now, I stood on the banks of Amsterdam. An opulent city with all manner of artists working within its walls. Here, brick buildings stood tall with barely space for the breeze to travel. I thought it would suffocate me, but to my surprise, the city coaxed me in.

© Claudia Merrill 2023-11-12

Genres
Novels & Stories
Moods
Funny, Reflective