In The Time Of The Dutch Masters…Take Two

 

…she was sick, sick unto death of being pawed at by every beer swilling or wine-tasting burgomaster with a free hand, and with nothing but lustful thoughts about their various abilities to bed her, and unspoken, leave her after they had had their way with her. She, Magda, swore, not Christian Calvinist pre-determined fate swore not in pious Dutch lands filled with superficial horror when crudities left some maiden’s, even an ex-milk maiden from the country, and certainly not in hearing distance of her pious Orange family, but more of a female curse under her breath that the next burgher who touched her ever so slightly was going to get his, well, get his. Anna her fellow serving girl, more used to the rough usage and rumored to have been bedded by more than one of those ancient burghers even though she was on the long side of twenty-five, laughed a wry laugh when Magda confided her oath to her. Laughed and wisdom warned her that she should grab what she could from these old goats if she planned to have any fortune in this wicked old world. After that admonition Magda stopped mentioning her woes to Anna (although she did not stop her eternal damnation oaths, under her breath).   

She had no idea once she came in from the countryside to Amsterdam to seek her fortune that serving old men, old time civic leaders with dour old wives and broods of unseen children (old to her fifteen-year old eyes) at table was going to be a test of mortal strength. Sure she had let Jan grab her a few times up in her family’s hayloft back home in Rik after the dancing was over and she/they had perhaps too many lagers. But that was pretty Jan full of youthful ardor (with very quick gentle and subtle hands that would shame these old burghers) and, well, good-looking too, so good-looking she felt she had to submit to his advances since her sisters, Eline and Anka, confessed that they would not mind seeing how quick his hands were.  So she maybe let him take a few more liberties than the elders would have approved of.  But then too they were practically betrothed and their two families had planned that event well before Jan (and she) got their grabbing habits.

Once that planned betrothal was set she left the family farm to come to Amsterdam to make some money so that she and Jan could be married as quickly as possible and start their own farm and family. Jan had come too and was apprenticed to a blacksmith to learn a trade that would help them survive those long cold winter nights. She had found the job through her cousin Rueben who catered to the civic leaders at the Guildhall who had a habit now that they were the “elect” of banqueting at the drop of a hat. So being a serving girl at the Guildhall was considered a plum by all, all who did not know what was expected from such a position.

Magda, truth be told was not above a little coquetry to make Jan a little jealous and make him work harder to get that farm, but these old coots were a different matter. Especially the group of four that always were seated at the far end of the Guildhall who set themselves up like they were so high and mighty (which on earth they were) sneaking their little pinchings when Rueben was busy preparing the next course or Anna and another serving girl, Matilde, were clearing the last set of dishes and setting up the next set for these fatted cows.

Once the wine and beer started flowing one was just as bad as the next. The banker, Hans as he insisted she call him while in his “democratic” spirits, on his fifth glass talking about how his (dour) wife was poorly and wouldn’t he be just within his rights to be with some little wench who could appreciate his ardor. Looking, no, leering directly at her. The merchant-general, Daan, all serious talk with the men, discoursing on the latest trade figures from his ships just in from the Indies, until she came into the room and then he would try to twist her breast right in front of the others like she didn’t know (from a distance anyway since genteel womenfolk did not enter the hall) that he had a rosy-cheeked daughter, Sonja, her own age. Then the watch commander, Neils, and his insatiable desire to eat oysters in order to enhance his manliness. So he said. What a laugh since by the end of the night he would be floor-bound snoring to high heaven. And that red-headed one, Willem Vert,   always pointing his single finger to make some obscure point and always swishing his sword “by mistake” so he said when she came by tapping her on her ass and making suggestive cooing sounds when he tried to “apologize”.

Just then Reuben called her to bring in another fistful of mugs for the gentlemen (he had a nicely snide way of saying that-“bring the buffoons theirs”) and as she prepared herself for the next battle she thought that if she just thought about Jan, about his quick gentle hands and that illicit hayloft, she just might get through that miserable night …