Free Girl with a Pearl Earring by Tracy Chevalier Page B

will have to get used to that sight, I thought.
    I began to look forward to my daily errand even more than to cleaning the studio. I dreaded it too, though, especially the moment Pieter the son looked up from his work and saw me, and I searched his eyes for clues. I wanted to know, yet as long as I didn’t, it was possible to hope.
    Several days passed when I bought meat from him, or passed by his stall after I had bought fish, and he simply shook his head. Then one day he looked up and looked away, and I knew what he would say. I just did not know who.
    I had to wait until he finished with several customers. I felt so sick I wanted to sit down, but the floor was speckled with blood.
    At last Pieter the son took off his apron and came over. “It is your sister, Agnes,” he said softly. “She is very ill.”
    “And my parents?”
    “They stay well, so far.”
    I did not ask what risk he had gone to in order to find out for me. “Thank you, Pieter,” I whispered. It was the first time I had spoken his name.
    I looked into his eyes and saw kindness there. I also saw what I had feared—expectation.

    On Sunday I decided to visit my brother. I did not know how much he knew of the quarantine or of Agnes. I left the house early and walked to his factory, which was outside the city walls not far from the Rotterdam Gate. Frans was still asleep when I arrived. The woman who answered at the gate laughed when I asked for him. “He’ll be asleep for hours yet,” she said. “They sleep all day on Sundays, the apprentices. It’s their day off.”
    I did not like her tone, nor what she said. “Please wake him and tell him his sister is here,” I demanded. I sounded a bit like Catharina.
    The woman raised her eyebrows. “I didn’t know Frans came from a family so high on their throne you can see up their noses.” She disappeared and I wondered if she would bother to wake Frans. I sat on a low wall to wait. A family passed me on their way to church. The children, two girls and two boys, ran ahead of their parents, just as we had ours. I watched them until they passed from sight.
    Frans appeared at last, rubbing sleep from his face. “Oh, Griet,” he said. “I didn’t know if it would be you or Agnes. I suppose Agnes wouldn’t come so far on her own.”
    He didn’t know. I couldn’t keep it from him, not even to tell him gently.
    “Agnes has been struck by the plague,” I blurted out. “God help her and our parents.”
    Frans stopped rubbing his face. His eyes were red.
    “Agnes?” he repeated in confusion. “How do you know this?”
    “Someone found out for me.”
    “You haven’t seen them?”
    “There is a quarantine.”
    “A quarantine? How long has there been one?”
    “Ten days so far.”
    Frans shook his head angrily. “I heard nothing of this! Stuck in this factory day after day, nothing but white tiles as far as I can see. I think I may go mad.”
    “It’s Agnes you should be thinking of now.”
    Frans hung his head unhappily. He had grown taller since I’d seen him months before. His voice had deepened as well.
    “Frans, have you been going to church?”
    He shrugged. I could not bring myself to question him further.
    “I’m going now to pray for them all,” I said instead. “Will you come with me?”
    He did not want to, but I managed to persuade him—I did not want to face a strange church alone again. We found one not far away, and although the service did not comfort me, I prayed hard for our family.
    Afterwards Frans and I walked along the Schie River. We said little, but we each knew what the other was thinking—neither of us had heard of anyone recovering from the plague.

    One morning when Maria Thins was unlocking the studio for me she said, “All right, girl. Clear that corner today.” She pointed to the area that he was painting. I did not understand what she meant. “All the things on the table should go into the chests in the storeroom,” she continued, “except the bowl