Free Girl with a Pearl Earring by Tracy Chevalier Page A

he needed.
    I did not know what to do that first Sunday I was not allowed to go home. I could not go to our church either, as it was in the quarantined area as well. I did not want to remain at the house, though—whatever Catholics did on Sundays, I did not want to be among them.
    They left together to go to the Jesuit church around the corner in the Molenpoort, the girls wearing good dresses, even Tanneke changed into a yellowish brown wool dress, and carrying Johannes. Catharina walked slowly, holding on to her husband’s arm. Maria Thins locked the door behind her. I stood on the tiles in front of the house as they disappeared and considered what to do. The bells in the New Church tower in front of me began to sound the hour.
    I was baptized there, I thought. Surely they will allow me inside for the service.
    I crept into the vast place, feeling like a mouse hiding in a rich man’s house. It was cool and dim inside, the smooth round pillars reaching up, the ceiling so high above me it could almost be the sky. Behind the minister’s altar was the grand marble tomb of William of Orange.
    I saw no one I knew, only people dressed in sober clothes much finer in their cloth and cut than any I would ever wear. I hid behind a pillar for the service, which I could hardly listen to, I was so nervous that someone would come along and ask me what I was doing there. At the end of the service I slipped out quickly before anyone approached me. I walked round the church and looked across the canal at the house. The door was still shut and locked. Catholic services must last longer than ours, I thought.
    I walked as far as I could towards my family’s house, stopping only where a barrier manned by a soldier blocked the way. The streets looked very quiet beyond it.
    “How is it,” I asked the soldier, “back there?”
    He shrugged and did not reply. He looked hot in his cloak and hat, for though the sun was not out the air was warm and close.
    “Is there a list? Of those who have died?” I could barely say the words.
    “Not yet.”
    I was not surprised—the lists were always delayed, and usually incomplete. Word of mouth was often more accurate. “Do you know—have you heard if Jan the tiler—”
    “I know nothing of anyone in there. You’ll have to wait.” The soldier turned away as others approached him with similar queries.
    I tried to speak to another soldier on a barrier at a different street. Though friendlier, he too could tell me nothing about my family. “I could ask around, but not for nothing,” he added, smiling and looking me up and down so I would know he didn’t mean money.
    “Shame on you,” I snapped, “for seeking to take advantage of those in misery.”
    But he did not seem ashamed. I had forgotten that soldiers think of just one thing when they see a young woman.
    When I got back to the Oude Langendijck I was relieved to find the house open. I slipped inside and spent the afternoon hiding in the courtyard with my prayer book. In the evening I crept into bed without eating, telling Tanneke my stomach hurt.

    At the butcher’s Pieter the son pulled me to one side while his father was busy with someone else. “Have you had news of your family?”
    I shook my head. “No one could tell me anything.” I did not meet his gaze. His concern made me feel as if I had just stepped off a boat and the ground was wobbling under my feet.
    “I will find out for you,” Pieter stated. From his tone it was clear that I was not to argue with him.
    “Thank you,” I said after a long pause. I wondered what I would do if he did find out something. He was not demanding anything the way the soldier had, but I would be obliged to him. I did not want to be obliged to anyone.
    “It may take a few days,” Pieter murmured before he turned to hand his father a cow’s liver. He wiped his hands on his apron. I nodded, my eyes on his hands. The creases between his nails and his fingers were filled with blood.
    I expect I