Grijhavn

By Gerald Reich

Grijhavn seems to be under a curse and its inhabitants struggle to survive.

The return of a wealthy family reawakens old hurts, hidden secrets, and a mystery steeped in black magic.

Jordaan struggles to save the girl he loves though her family has already rejected his courtship of her.

A curse is made manifest but the identity of its source has the village fearful until an answer is found.

The eventual truth turns out to be something very much different.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Martian Publishing
• Release date: Jun 21, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463900734

Book preview

GRIJHAVN

By Gerald Reich

MARTIAN PUBLISHING

Copyright © 2018 by Martian Publishing Company

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved.

No portion of this volume may

be reproduced in any format

without the express written

permission of the copyright holder.

This is a work of fiction.

Any resemblance to persons or

organizations, living or extinct,

is entirely coincidental.

"There will be a rift though none see its face.

There will be a gift this anchor holds in place."

CHAPTER ONE

It was a Novembered day in mid-June, scant leaves spotted the tree limbs against the gray foreboding skies and the breeze carried a chill along its furrows, chasing the bitter warmth of late spring from the air around us, here in this gray harbor.

It was typically left to the autumn season to dull the world to grayish tones though the gray seemed perfectly normal for summer day here as our Grijhavn lived up to its dismal name.

Low-flying fog reflected the dour mood of the place, leeching the few colors remaining from the land. Even on sunny days those same colors lacked the luster they should have held in any other place.

The day was, as always, gray.

This small valley labored under some curse as though the Finger of God had passed over this spot without Blessing, without Redemption, without Hope. Most assuredly the crops grew and the calves fattened but scarcely beyond the escarpment called survival by most well-meaning souls.

Happiness did not reign in Grijhavn.

I cannot say why this haven should seem so gray but the liveliest of colors arriving in this vale seemed too soon to lose their luster, taking on the somber patina that permeates the village like a birthright, and sounds the singular and dull tone of our existence.

Others might wonder if there was indeed a curse upon the place, some spell bewitching the populace like that which recently fell upon yon Salem in the Massachusetts colony. That there was a gloom was obvious to all though dis-noticed by most for fear it should manifest in some rotting madness in our souls. Any devilment here was of the domestic sort, placid and mundane rather than anything so profoundly or manifestly evil.

None could recall exactly who had christened the village with such a foreboding name even though it was surely the ancestor of one of the current residents. None would lay claim to the hollow honor for the name. Or the curse, if that is what it was. And by the end of the month of which I speak, most of the village would truly come to believe some form of that malediction had been laid over us all by a hand not accustomed to arts adorned by Providence.

Regardless of the provenance of its peculiarly apt name, it was a small village and, as shall always be the state of such close communities, all citizens in the fifty-odd houses knew each other's secrets as intimately as if we were of one family sharing one very large room. And while it is true that many of the locals were linked by some bonds of marriage, not all belonged as closely connected to the general extended family as others. The friction caused thereby was to be an everlasting burr under the placid ride longed for by most of us present.

Rarely was a smile unbidden seen in the village and even those persons traveling through en route to parts more sublime seem to have been afflicted with the gloom of the valley, pausing only long enough to water their horses or purchase some necessity. Few lingered willingly in these environs and far fewer remained for more than an hour.

It cannot be believed that it was the place itself that beckoned to those of bleak constitutions. One would assume that the earliest of the settlers hereabout were as wily and persevering as the hardy colonial sorts in other parts of the vast land. I believe it is the inherent bleakness of the valley itself that has afflicted the residents herein. And that dour outlook has had an effect on the capabilities of those in these environs for childbearing. It is said that families in other places – even some of the villages very near our own – have families blessed with eight or ten children. Here in Grijhavn, having four was considered a huge family. At present time, most families had only a single child or – the very lucky ones – two children

The cursed barrenness of the land had indeed seemed to have also afflicted those of us merely passing through this mortal landscape.

Though I grew up in the gray tenor of the place, it had not always seemed so ghastly ill as I was to later realize. Children, by their very nature, saw light and color in the wonderment of fresh eyes, curiosity sparkling on the edges of all things no matter how mundane or blemished to the more mature-eyed of the group; gray was even a comfort to those young souls finding their first steps within the confines of the village.

Yet there was one other shining light – of which I spoke not to a soul for fear of being ridiculed and driven into solitude within my very spirit – and that was in the person of Ilse Dekker.

~~~~

CHAPTER TWO

Two years younger than I and of one of the families so interlinked in the history of the village that they seemed to be nothing less than local aristocracy was the bright and beautiful Ilse Dekker, while the family from whom I sprang was of the other sort – those not included in dealings and matchings that better the standings of the remainder of the tribe.

The family Spronk was relatively new in Grijhavn and, I fear, was set off onto the broken path paved with bad blood almost from the start. Though never apprised of the crime or misstep made by my forebear, its dark shadow cast a permanent darkness over our fortunes, made grayer still by the environs in which we were trapped.

Ilse and I met early on in our lives – in such a small village how could it be otherwise – but her family had apparently discouraged her interactions being anything but completely formal in regard to our type. I did not, nay, could not have known that at such a young age but I came upon the realization in due course.

Whereas most children of the village abhorred schooling, when the itinerant teacher came through once a week, I was more than happy to spend the day locked in a room with the dreadfully boring Mr. Crane because it placed my being for that long period with my Ilse. In her presence, I was the most brilliant student the world had ever seen, despite what the teacher said or what Mr. Dekker might say. She was, I believed, captivated by me. I daresay even as much as I was by her.

We talked frequently in those days but primarily only while in school. She would not allow me to carry her books home or to walk her to her house; nay, or to be seen even close to her when we went without the school. By degrees I was learning the harsh lessons of life.

The truly difficult period came when the teacher fell to some sort of misfortune in a village south of us called Sleepy Hollow. His arrival was delayed and when a query was sent, we were only told that misfortune had overtaken the man.

School was out of session for some time and I moped about the village, learning at last what the impenetrable grayness was actually all about. Had I seen her on the street, her eyes would have been averted. Had I called to her, she would not have answered – this I knew without having been told, almost as if given as some insidious birthright.

Two months later, salvation and sanity were restored when word came of a new circuit teacher having been retained. When he arrived, we could immediately see the difference between the strict disciplinarian that was the last teacher and the benevolent, jovial soul that was Mr. Van Hoojidonk, a resident of Amsterdam – though of recent now called York – and as luck would have it, cousin to one of our most esteemed families.

Whereas Mr. Crane had often used his rod to threaten any chatter in the room – and I was struck more than a few times for making some smart comment to Ilse – Mr. Van Hoojiidonk was much more relaxed in his disposition toward the class and instruction. In fact, the gentleman was often taking the class out of the stuffy building on some of the better occasioned days to deliver his lectures on various subjects while walking along the lane south of town, along the creek that runs from the northwest through the village, or in one of the grazing meadows adjacent to the school grounds, of which there were three in close proximity.

For a time thereafter, Grijhavn was as bright and gay to myself, I suppose, as I have heard some of the capitals of Europe were – Prague, Munich, Vienna. Grijhavn was a beacon to the troubled souls of the world, of which mine was foremost.

And then the schooling ended. On the last day, I motioned Ilse aside and said that I should like to ask her father for the boon of courting her. She was excited at the proposition but cautioned me saying that he forbid her to even consider any offers until she had turned fifteen, still several months away.

Undaunted, I assured her I should wait forever if need be for she was the only person alive in whom I had any chance of happiness. We pledged our troth together then and each promised the other we would wait, and bide our time.

Passing her on the street after that was no different than in time past. If her mother caught her glancing my direction, her fan would take the view away from her. And should she smile in my direction she would receive a scolding so severe the words were distinctly heard even from a distance.

It was painful, the waiting, but the prize was more than worth the effort, the pain, the heartbreak, the disdainful glances from her parents or her companions.

The day after she turned fifteen, I dressed in my best clothing – cleaned and pressed especially for the occasion and hung meticulously overnight so that no wrinkles might set into the fabric – I walked right smartly up to the front door of the Dekker residence.

I knocked and waited.

When the door opened, the mistress of the house face set in pleasant greeting suddenly turned dour. What can I do for you? she snapped.

I should like a word with your husband, if I might.

A stern visage had been set in plaster for her face and I was not sure if she would simply slam the door on my face or invite me within to await her husband's pleasure. She did neither.

Wait here! And the command so uttered she slammed the door and left me waiting on the stoop like some common beggar. Even a salesperson should have been invited to stand just inside the doorway out of the elements. But such was the position of my family in that most dismal of communities.

After what seemed a half hour, although I doubt it was more than a third that time in reality, the door opened again and I was met with the even more stern visage of Ilse's father, the irascible Mr. Dekker.

"And what do you want?"

If you'll forgive the impertinence, sir, I have come to formally ask of you the right to begin a courtship with your daughter, Ilse.

Behind him, near the staircase, was the object of my affections, smiling at my fortitude and the light of hope shining brightly in her eyes. A few feet in front of her and to one side was her brother, Koert, two years my senior, scowling and working his mouth as though chewing on some decayed morsel of gristle.

You? Courting my daughter!?He had turned a shade of red and sputtered without regard to the spittle while he spoke so vehemently. Not while I live and breathe! Now, begone you and don't bother coming back! And the door was slammed again but not before I saw Koert's face light up with a crooked smile that almost brought the light of intelligence into his beady little eyes. And I also saw the face of my beloved, crushed, her lovely face distorted by anguish though the sounds of it did not reach my ears until the echo of the slamming door had cleared my ears.

Father… No! I love him!

His gruff tones were not discernible to my ears.

I hate you! I hate you! was the next I heard before the sounds of her feet stomping up the stairs followed by a wailing cut off finally by the shutting of her bedroom door somewhere upstairs.

The only sound after that was the whisper of the breeze through the elm in their yard and the unartful laughter of her brother.

It was some time before realization of my location and the lostness of the cause came fully to my senses and I found my way numbly back home.

After that time, Grijhavn became as cold and gray to me as it had been to most others of the civilized world who happened to be trapped even a moment's time in the web of decay in these environs.

The really intelligent people stayed away or moved away as fast as finances would allow. Those who remained behind were either too witless to understand the dangers – as were Mr. Dekker and his bully of a son, Koert – or those quite simply too poor to manage the expense – as was the case of one Pepijn Spronk, my father.

The summer without joy continued, dragging my soulless husk along with it, finding various and sundry things to keep my mind occupied, to keep from going quite mad. The ever-present picture in my mind of my love smiling so hopeful on the stair made any effort I might attempt a cause worthy of that prize.

Another might have wished to simply leave this cursed place and attempt to find a breath of happiness in the wider world beyond where people found love, found joy, found a place wherein happiness reigned supreme.

And they would never have returned to this cursed port.

Such I could not do as the light of my life was embodied in the soul of Ilse Dekker. If I could not be with her, at least I could remain close and pray for the day when another opportunity to win her hand might present itself. Though vain such hope, I sought any support to my crusade as I could locate, to keep alive the hope that kept me here.

And though people did not, as a general rule, return to this foul dung-heap for any reason, the end of that summer brought such a misfortune to pass.

Sebastiann Van der Bijl had been one of the inner circle of the village some