Elsa looked over at her friend and gave her a quick squeeze. Kaatje looked as frightened as Elsa felt as she stared at the Herald, a medium-sized, bark-rigged clipper. The ship, of which Peder was so proud, was majestic.
Kristoffer Swenson, the second mate, stopped beside them and looked up at the ship. “She’ll boast twenty-one sails once we’re on the open sea,” he said briefly. Kristoffer was not given to long speeches, but a kinder man would be hard to find. And his obvious love for the ship, reflected in both his words and his lean face, made Elsa and Kaatje smile.
As the passengers from Bergen continued boarding the ship, Astrid Swenson, Kristoffer’s very pregnant wife, stopped beside Kaatje. “You are not nervous, are you?”
“Ah, no,” Kaatje said. “Terrified.”
“Pshaw,” said Kristoffer. He pointed up at the port side of the Herald. “She’s the best down-easter Maine has to offer. Her steel hull can tolerate any transatlantic wind. Don’t you ladies worry,” he said, placing a lean arm around Astrid. “I would not be taking my wife and sons along if I weren’t confident they would arrive in Boston.”
Kaatje looked down, a bit embarrassed that Kristoffer was referring not only to his son Knut, but Astrid’s unborn child as well. But he was so exuberant, so sure, that the women all took confidence as they looked up to the ship again.
Soren joined their little group and was almost knocked over by three-year-old Knut, who was running around and around his parents, begging to go aboard. Soren laughed his great belly laugh that always beckoned everyone else to join in and echoed Knut’s request. Together the adults glanced back at Bergen and then climbed the gangway with Kristoffer leading the way—all except Elsa.
She turned and clung to her mother, reluctant to part, wanting to memorize the feel of being in her arms. It would be a very long time, if ever, before they saw each other again. Her mother obviously felt the same, for she embraced Elsa with a ferocity that threatened to crush the air out of her. But she welcomed it. Despite the agonizing departures occurring in every family’s circle, the air about them was bright and sparked with excitement. Elsa battled the feeling that they were all just going away on holiday, not wanting to forget any important face, not wanting to forget any important words.
“Adjo, daughter, adjo,” Her mother said over and over again. Her repeated good-byes tore at Elsa’s heart. Sobbing, Gratia wrenched away and into Carina’s arms as Elsa went on to her father. The old man wiped his watering eyes with an almost angry hand and then pulled Elsa into his strong arms as fiercely as had her mother. She closed her eyes and tried to memorize his smell—a curious but perpetual mix of wood, soap, and ink. It was difficult to differentiate it from the briny, fishy odor that permeated the docks, and that pained her somehow. She pulled away but held on to her father’s hands, feeling the ache in her throat beginning to build, and not wanting to give in to the sobs that would beg her heart to stay in Bergen forever.
Elsa looked down at those wizened hands, virile despite the age spots that covered them, afraid to look into her father’s eyes. Over the years, his fingertips had grown permanently black, stained by the ink of his trade as a shipwright. Oh, how she would miss those hands! His reassuring pats, the way he used them to gesture his feelings and emotions.
“Elsa,” he said softly, pulling away one hand to raise her chin.
Reluctantly, she raised her eyes to meet his. Tears flowed freely down his face now, and that was the end of Elsa’s reserves. She tried to smile through her own tears. “Good-bye, Papa,” she managed, feeling like she was strangling.
“Adjo, sweet one. Go with God, and he will see you through. Remember the lights, eh?”
She nodded, swallowing hard. She knew she had to tear herself away. It was her duty to be on board and greet the passengers while Peder saw to other things—an initial act of partnership. Thankfully, at that moment he appeared, and simply having him near seemed to shore up her crumbling walls. She raised her chin, gave her mother another quick hug then said brief good-byes to her sisters as Peder said farewell to her parents. Then, resolving not to look back, she walked in front of her husband and up the gangway to the ship that would take her to her new life.
Karl was at the top and stretched out his hand to help her over the side and down the three small stairs. Peder told Elsa that he needed to speak with Kristoffer and check on the crew’s progress in stowing the last of the luggage. She nodded and turned to greet those who were boarding. All she wanted now was to be off. The wait for their departure, with her family and beloved homeland still beckoning on shore, would seem interminable.
“You will be back,” Karl said quietly, his voice as always reminding her of cello tones.
She glanced up at him in surprise. “Whatever do you mean?”
“I mean that captains often bring their wives along on voyages. We will not be gone from Bergen forever. And as the yard grows and more ships are deemed seaworthy, will not the chances of that simply grow too?” His smile was gentle and reassuring.
“Oh, Karl,” she exclaimed, giving his big, rough hand a quick squeeze. “You cannot fathom what that does for my heart! Do you think Peder would really allow me to go along? And that you will return to Bergen? He has told me that trade in this port has been steadily dying. Everyone goes to Copenhagen these days, he says.”
A shadow crossed Karl’s face before he responded. Then, as if forcing a smile, he said, “I am confident that, given time, you can convince your new husband of most anything. It will be difficult for you to be away, Elsa. But think of it as an adventure. A journey of such wonder that each moment is something to treasure as a gift from God. Even when things are difficult, it helps me to remember that.”
His look was distant as he gazed out over Bergen, and Elsa wondered about this old childhood friend who had become a man in his years at sea, right alongside her own husband. She studied him for a moment, noting the boyish look he still held through the eyes and nose, even though his jaw had grown strong with manhood. He had grown muttonchop side-whiskers that he was somehow able to carry off, and he had the body stature befitting a first mate—no, a sea captain. Peder was right. Karl had the countenance to command his own ship. It was good that Ramstad Yard would soon build him one.
Elsa’s attention was diverted by the pilgrims who were entering the ship one by one, carrying the trunks to which they would need access during the voyage. The rest of their luggage had been stowed the day before. As the captain’s bride, Elsa was already beginning to feel responsibility for her townspeople.
“I am so happy that so many will come with us,” she said to Karl after greeting Kaatje and Soren with mock-formal handshakes and laughter. Departing was difficult, but the thrill of going was undeniable.
“It is good in many ways,” he said. “You all will find support in one another. And you’ll be glad for that. Peder and I have seen many immigrants return home, despairing from being so cut off from all they knew. It can be overwhelming.”
“But their English lessons,” interrupted Nora Paulson saucily, their stout teacher of three years, “will be their mainstay.” She cocked her head and, with a grin, hopped down the stairs and onto the ship. “I wanted my first steps to America to be without trepidation!”
Karl laughed, and Elsa joined in. Behind Nora was her giant of a beau, Einar Gustavson, who lugged an enormous trunk on his back. Einar shook his head at Nora’s antics. “For years now,” he said haggardly, yet with a twinkle in his eye, “she bothers me to go to America, go to America. Now I go along and what does she say? She wants me to build her a schoolhouse so she can teach. She tells me it will be alongside our beautiful farm in this place they call Eden. The woman does not even bother to wait until I ask her to marry!”
Nora smiled benignly as she stood with hands on hips. “If I wait for that moment, Einar, I will be old and gray. If you will not make plans, then I must.”
Einar raised his eyebrows and cocked his head toward her while still looking at K
arl and Elsa. They laughed again. “You had better get to that proposal, Einar,” Karl said. “Or Nora is bound to ask you.”
Nora snorted at that, as Einar set down the trunk with a loud clunk. “That will certainly be the day,” she retorted. “No, no, this stubborn farmer is free to do as he wishes. If he does not move soon enough, I will simply find another farmer in North Dakota who would be proud,” she paused to give Einar’s brawny shoulder a slap, “to find a teacher as his wife.”
“You see what I have to put up with?” Einar asked woefully. “How is a man to ask this woman to marry him when she never gives him a chance? For years now, it has plagued me.”
Elsa laughed again at his antics, appreciating the release of tension. Feeling the headiness of the moment, she blurted out, “Well, for heaven’s sakes, Einar. There is obviously going to be no perfect moment. Ask her now.”
Nora looked up at Einar with a cocky smile, seemingly daring him to do it. Behind them, other townspeople gathered, chuckling at the scene.
Einar looked around, blushing a purplish-red at the neckline that made Elsa immediately sorry for her forwardness. But to her surprise, the big man knelt right there and took Nora’s hand. “Nora. We go to a new land. A new place. Will you be my new wife?”
Nora laughed nervously, obviously as surprised as Elsa that he had taken the bait, then offered them her own surprise. “We’re going to a new land,” she corrected in a softer voice than most had ever heard from her. “And I would love to be your wife.”
The group erupted into a cheer and quickly spread the news down the gangplank. On the dock, their nearest and dearest echoed their approval.
Elsa smiled. It was a good beginning to their new venture. Surely God was smiling down upon them.
Kaatje’s stomach had lurched with excitement as the tug hauled them out of the port and then released them. Karl yelled, “Unfurl the sails!” and within minutes, it seemed, the crew had the square-sailed ship clipping along out of Byfjorden. At first, the salt-laced air, the brisk breeze whipping off the water and ruffling the sails until they billowed like enormous feather pillows, invigorated Kaatje. But as the Herald left the sheltered fjords and encountered the first of the sea’s endless waves, her stomach turned turtle. It was with some embarrassment that she vomited all over the ship’s wooden deck, and the only consolation she could find was that she was only one of many.
Now she moaned as bile rose again in her throat. She concentrated on the glass prism in the ceiling above her, the only source of daylight for belowdecks passengers, and prayed that God would settle her stomach. Karl, God bless him, had loaned her his tiny cabin so that she could at least find privacy in her misery. She was just wondering if Norway was still in sight and lamenting that she was not above deck to say one last good-bye, when Kristoffer arrived with Astrid in tow. One look at the woman’s face, and Kaatje wordlessly got out of bed and offered her friend the lower bunk.
Gratefully, Astrid sank onto the bed, too exhausted to protest Kaatje’s kindness. Feeling sick again from being vertical, Kaatje gave her a quick half-smile and climbed the hand-hewn mahogany steps to the top bunk. Just lying prone with her eyes closed seemed to help her stomach, and surprisingly, moving closer to the ceiling seemed to de-emphasize the Herald’s rocking. She listened to Kristoffer speak reassuring words to his wife. Then he rose and stood beside the bunks, his head at about Kaatje’s level.
“I am sorry, Kaatje,” he said, keeping his eyes lowered in deference to her modesty. “Karl mentioned you were here. The hold is full of passengers who are faring about as well as you two. I thought it would be better for Astrid—in her condition—not to be with so many other sick people.”
“No, no,” Kaatje managed, waving off his apology. “Astrid has as much right to this cabin as I do. We’ll get along. I can imagine you’re needed above deck.”
“Well, yes,” he said, fidgeting, obviously feeling torn as Astrid threw up in the tin bucket Karl had left beside the bunk. “I need to go rescue Elsa from our little Knut, and Karl is bound to be looking for me.”
“Go, my love,” Astrid said, leaning back against her pillow. “We will be fine. Two pregnant women know how to deal with upset stomachs.”
“Aye,” Kristoffer said softly. “I will send someone with clean buckets and cool cloths shortly.”
Kaatje closed her eyes, feeling a bit pained as she heard him give Astrid a quiet kiss. Soren had yet to check on her.
Her mind raced as she thought about Elsa and Peder’s wedding, and her own nuptials two years past. She smiled as she mentally traced Soren’s image: his new sideburns, like Karl’s, which he assumed was American fashion, his wild, unruly hair parted on one side. Kaatje thought his new look far too sophisticated for a man who wanted to farm, but anything new was welcome. It just added to the celebration of rebirth—new look, new choices, new land, new life.
Their own wedding had been nowhere near as elaborate as the Ramstads’, but the day had resurrected a hundred memories. Had Soren once looked at her the way Peder drank in Elsa’s image? Yes. Did she once look up at Soren with all the trust and admiration that one could see in Elsa’s eyes? Indeed. Could their love be rekindled after such a thorough dousing, after such betrayal? Yes, they were going to a land of new beginnings. Anything was possible. Still, would it be enough? Kaatje decided she had no choice but to trust in the Lord and her husband. With that thought in her head, she escaped into blissful sleep.
Having heard nothing for hours, Tora decided it was safe to move about. She smiled to herself, utterly exultant that her plan had worked. How surprised her parents and her sister would be when they returned to their home and found her gone! And how simple it had been! On the day of the wedding, Tora had coerced Vidar, a silly sailor boy whom she had wound around her little finger, to help her forge a plan. He had known the inner workings of the ship and the best way to sneak her aboard. It had only taken one kiss to convince him.
They had added an old trunk to Elsa’s belongings, placing it close enough to be construed as one of hers, yet far enough away that Elsa would not notice it. Vidar had taken part in the loading of the passengers’ luggage, so he made certain that the trunk holding Tora was loaded on top of the others. “Careful,” she had heard his muffled voice say. “I think that one’s full of cut crystal.”
In her opinion, the sailors who carried her trunk did so with all the care of those carrying straw bales, but she had ended up in a perfect position. As soon as she felt the rolling of the open sea, she had escaped her cramped quarters and felt around in the darkness to get a sense of her surroundings. Finally, sure that she was the only living thing in the cargo hold besides the squawking chickens, grunting swine, lowing cows, and a few rats, she pulled a candle from her pocket and lit it.
In the soft, flickering light, she stifled a small “oh.” The ship seemed enormous down here, and not the least bit comforting. The huge cargo hold rose up through a portion of all three decks and was filled with crates and barrels and trunks of various sizes. She was at the bottom, with the stairs rising not far from her perch. The wide-stepped staircase led up to the huge cargo hold doors that allowed sailors to load and unload the Herald. The candle shed little light, and a shiver ran down her back as she squinted, trying to peer into the farthest reaches of darkness to reassure herself.
How she longed to climb the stairs, bang on the doors, and surprise them all with her presence! But no, she told herself, she must stay put until she could hold out no longer. By then, it would be impossible for Peder to turn the ship around.
She shivered again and raised her candle in search of the other trunk of clothes Vidar had smuggled aboard with her. Tora discovered it two chests over and immediately rummaged through it for her cloak and some of the food she had hidden there. The night watch, which she assumed she would hear, had not begun clanging their bells, her only way to ascertain the time. She assumed it was about noon and time for lunch. She would call it that, anyway, until she knew better.
Nothing in her life had tasted better than the remains of Elsa’s wedding feast, which Tora had smuggled away with other precious stores. Yesterday it had tasted dry and flat; today it was like manna from heaven, as Mama would say. The thought of her mother brought Tora up short. She was sorry to cause her pain. But Papa was getting his just desserts. The old man had forced her to this. Yes, today, her first day of freedom and new life, all food tasted like manna.
After supper on the second day of their voyage, Peder pushed away his inexpensive porcelain plate and Cook, a man whom Peder liked to joke had come as cheap as the dinnerware, immediately cleared it away. Peder watched the old Chinaman move, his feet shuffling along, as Karl and Kristoffer debated the profit potential of different cargoes and Stefan—Peder’s steward—looked on. Although his cooking skills left something to be desired, Cook was indispensable. In all the ten years Peder had traveled with the man, earlier as second mate, then as first mate, and now as captain, he had never known him to show up late from port or shirk his duties in any way. One thing he would grant, Chinamen knew how to pull their weight.
Peder glanced down the elegant mahogany table to his wife, who watched Karl and then Kristoffer speak, seemingly delighted by their banter. She was a quick study, and he could almost see her mind working as she considered first one man’s comments and then the other’s. When either man glanced at her, Elsa nodded politely, obviously listening, but not intruding.
He watched as Karl glanced at Elsa and saw his first mate do a double take. Peder smiled. He knew that Elsa’s unfaltering blue-eyed gaze was enough to make any man take a step back. Her eyes begged one to stare back into them, as if one could ascertain his future simply by staring into their blue depths. “Gypsy eyes,” Peder had whispered to her during their first night together. She had demurred, calling Tora the gypsy. But underneath the blond halo that glistened in her hair from the cabin’s candlelight chandelier, she was a gypsy. And Elsa’s eyes were only the beginning of her siren’s call for him.
Northern Lights Trilogy Page 5
