Northern Lights Trilogy

by Lisa Tawn Bergren

  “Come on, Tora,” Peder said gruffly, pulling her along toward the next station.

  “Ouch. You’re hurting me.”

  “You need to stop that.”

  “Stop what?” she asked innocently.

  “Batting your big blue eyes at every man who steps in your path.

  It will work against you someday, Tora. And I won’t be around to step in,” he added, obviously referring to that night on the Herald with Soren.

  “I do not need you to step in,” she said indignantly, wrenching away her arm. “I am a grown woman.”

  “With a little girl’s idea of a just world.”

  “Well, I don’t know what you mean by that, Peder Ramstad, but I’ll thank you to keep your opinions to yourself.”

  “I will be happy to do so just as soon as you are someone else’s responsibility.”

  “Like mine?” Kristoffer asked, stepping up behind them and taking the restless Lars from her arms.

  Tora let out a sound of disgust. “I’m my own responsibility. No one owns me.”

  “But you owe me five and a half more months.”

  “Surely you do not intend to hold me to that bargain,” Tora said, looking at Kristoffer with what she hoped looked like righteous indignation.

  “I surely do. You are indebted to me for the passage I’ve paid to your brother-in-law. Since you are penniless, you will repay me, Tora.” His eyes were gentle, but determined.

  Little did he know that she was not penniless. Sewn in the hems of her skirts was money “borrowed” from her father against her future dowry. That dowry was rightfully hers. But she would not use it to buy passage. She needed it to establish herself somewhere and lure the right man—a wealthy man—to her side. If it took five more months to work off the passage, she could wait. She would use the time to study her alternatives. I must move wisely, she thought. Yes, let them think what they wanted of her. They’d soon see she was no mere girl.

  Peder left Elsa and Tora at the final station in line, confident after a word with James, an official he knew, that there would be no problem. Besides, Kristoffer remained with them, partly to see Knut through—everyone over two years of age was documented—and partly to help with Lars. He also knew Kris saw in Tora’s eyes what Peder himself saw: the urge to bolt. If they didn’t keep a close eye on her, she was liable to run for the next train to New York.

  He left the brick hall and breathed deeply, smelling the hot summer city smells of dust, flowers, and horse dung. The ground felt curiously solid under his feet, as it always did after a voyage, and he walked as if each leg held a ten-pound weight. What was it about the sea that made a man feel lighter? Peder turned the corner, and after narrowly avoiding a coach, spotted Karl. He walked behind him for a while, thinking about catching up to him, when his friend turned and entered a saloon. Peder frowned. In all the years he had traveled with Karl, he had seldom seen him enter such an establishment.

  He followed him and ambled up to the bar, taking the stool beside Karl. “It must be bad, to bring you in here.”

  Karl looked over at him in surprise. “The heat,” he said, by way of answering. “Are you so bored that you must follow me?”

  Peder shook his head as the bartender looked at him after taking Karl’s order. The man was back in an instant with a tall glass mug of frothy beer, and for a moment Peder lamented his decision. But it was poor practice to set such an example for his men, if any came by.

  “Listen, Karl,” he said, “I have to leave. You know why. But is there something … Look, is something the matter? Are you having second thoughts about the business?”

  Karl shook his head, staring at the beer. “No, I am fine. It’s the heat. I’ll just have one and be out. Now get on with your business, man.”

  “All right. See you tonight?”

  Karl nodded. “At the Oasis, right?”

  “I hope so. I’m going there now to try and secure the rooms. If it doesn’t work out, I’ll leave word at the Herald where we can be found.”

  “Good enough.”

  Peder left the dark establishment, ignoring the lingering glances of the working girls and hoping Karl would do the same. No good could come from such a place, and he hoped Karl was serious when he said he’d be out after his one beer. Listen to me, he said to himself, I sound like a clucking mother hen. Such was the life of a sea captain, he decided. Always looking out for the lives of his crew.

  Karl watched as Peder walked past the dusty saloon window. What did he know of troubles? The world was at his feet with Ramstad Yard coming together and Elsa at his side. Sure things between them were temporarily bridged, but how long could it last? God had granted him a reprieve, it seemed, after a night of fervent prayer. But he felt distant and sad, removed from all about him, trying to find the grace to praise the Lord for the respite. Perhaps after a while his life would feel good again, right again, he thought. Perhaps this path could work. Just to be sure, he would steer clear of Elsa. That was it, he coached himself. Steer clear of Elsa and get your steamer built. After that, captain her while others are built in Camden. Reevaluate your life then.

  He sighed in relief at the thought. That’s what he needed. A new ship beneath his feet, a tropical island in the distance, and an all-male crew. Danger avoided. Righteousness upheld.

  Suddenly he felt as free as when he successfully negotiated a threatening reef and the men on board cheered his expertise. Yes, even as Peder’s right-hand man and without the girl of his dreams, Karl Martensen would make something of himself.

  Elsa stood amid the throngs of people and the multitude of languages in the Boston train station, struggling to hold back her tears. Only two days ago they had disembarked from the Herald, laughing as many of the immigrants kissed the ground; now, suddenly, they were parting ways—some to the West and some to the North. She had been so caught up with the voyage itself, then the joy of their arrival and acceptance in America, that she had avoided the thought of parting with Kaatje and the others—especially Kaatje.

  She knew she was being ridiculous as she clung to her dear friend, but she could not help herself. It was if she were leaving Bergen again.

  “Please write,” she begged of Kaatje, pulling away.

  “You know I will,” Kaatje said, reaching out to give her one more embrace.

  Elsa turned to Soren and gave him a fierce look. She lowered her voice. “Promise me you will take care of her,” she demanded.

  Soren laughed, embarrassed at such a command. “Of course. She’s my wife.”

  Elsa leaned nearer to him, looking him dead in the eye. “No, Soren. I mean it. Promise me you will take care of her.”

  “Of course,” he repeated, clearly irritated by now. He took Kaatje’s arm and picked up her bag. “Come, Kaatje. They’re boarding.”

  “All aboard!” yelled the conductor as the train’s bell clanged. “All aboard!”

  Kaatje stood on tiptoe and hugged Elsa once again, their tears mingling on Elsa’s cheeks. Then they parted, and in so doing, Elsa felt as if she were being ripped in half. She said good-bye to the others, wishing them all well and whispering advice until they were all on the Baltimore and Ohio train, waving their hats and handkerchiefs.

  “Last call for the Baltimore and Ohio! Washington! Pittsburgh! Chicago!” yelled the conductor. “Last call for the B&O!”

  “Good-bye!” Elsa called, wondering at the sorrow in her heart. It was always easier to leave than to be left, she reminded herself, and wondered if this was how her parents had felt as the Herald sailed out of sight.

  Kaatje leaned out the window as the conductor blew the horn and the ch-chuh sound of the wheels gathered speed. She watched as Elsa and the others grew smaller in the distance and the train track gently swooped away. Would she ever see her beloved friend again? She hoped so. Kaatje felt sorrow at leaving a loved one behind, but it was good to be en route to their final destination. Soren took her hand as they settled back in their dilapidated, maroon, upholstered s
eats. One look at him and she knew he was already in North Dakota, sowing the seed, harvesting the crop.

  Coal smoke drifted in the window, but with it came a gentle, blessed breeze that cut the awful humid air. Sweat trickled down under Kaatje’s corset, and she squirmed to get a better position to catch the breeze. She should have worn her cotton work dress, she thought, not this awful wool gown. But pride had urged her to don her best, stifling though it was. Her fellow Bergensers had done the same, and for a lot of poor farmers, they looked fairly nice, making their economy class coach car look nearly like first class.

  Behind Kaatje and Soren sat Birger and Eira Nelson. Eira had a way with herbs and the healing arts; perhaps she would help Kaatje deliver her child when the time came. Behind them were the two bachelors: Nels, who exulted at the thought of all that land for his future sheep, and Mathias, the future cattle rancher who had been rechristened Matthew at the immigration hall. She smiled as she listened to him retell the story.

  “So in front of me was a German Jew who was so flustered and confused when they asked his name, that he replied, ‘Ich vergessen—’ ”

  “Which means ‘I have forgotten,’ ” Nora chimed in, as well versed in German as she was in English.

  “To which the inspector said, ‘Welcome to America, Ike Fergusson. Next!’ ”

  The whole train car laughed as one, enjoying the story again.

  “And when I got up there, I did not argue either when I told him my name was Mathias, and he renamed me Matthew! I like having an American name,” he said proudly, fist to chest. “It makes me more at home already!”

  Across the aisle from the rechristened Matthew sat Pastor Lien, his wife, Amalia, and their five-year-old daughter, Klara. Kaatje marveled at how good the little girl had been aboard the ship. She had played quietly and listened intently to her teacher, learning English much more quickly than many of the adults. In front of her sat her teacher, Nora, and Einar, the newlyweds, holding hands and talking softly, their heads close together. Kaatje was happy for their union. Nora had waited so long for Einar to propose. She shot a smile over at Nora. No, traveling with nine fellow Bergensers was better than none. Together, they could still be a community for one another until they found community with others.

  Nora reached across the aisle and handed Kaatje her fan.

  “No, I couldn’t,” Kaatje protested. She knew Einar had purchased it from a vendor in Boston as a wedding gift for Nora, an uncommon extravagance for such a simple man.

  “You take it,” urged Nora. “It is the blessing of all expectant mothers that others treat them with a little extra kindness.”

  “Thank you,” Kaatje said, reluctantly taking the luxurious fan. Its handles were made of ivory and the linen covering nearly matched it in color. On it was a delicately painted picture of a Japanese woman in her native kimono, sitting beside a tiny, strange-looking tree with a curved trunk. In her hands was a fan like the one Kaatje held.

  “An exotic fan for a Bergen farm girl, is it not?” she asked Soren.

  “A befitting fan for my wife,” he said, tenderly touching her cheek. “I should have purchased one, too, that day with Einar.”

  She looked down, embarrassed by his praise. Was that not evidence in itself that he had recommitted himself to their marriage? He loved her. First, best, and always. The gentle rocking of the train and Soren’s hand in hers reassured Kaatje that all was right in her world, especially now that they had left Soren’s dark-haired temptress behind. Surely in a land where they gave away one hundred and sixty acres to every person who sought it, there would be few women and far between. On their land, they would form their own little country, a hundred and sixty acres of safety. Yes. In the Dakotas, she and Soren would find their way.

  Tora sighed in relief as the train slid out of sight. Soren was at last out of her hair, one more step accomplished in her path to a bright future. She grimaced as Lars screamed at the top of his lungs and Kristoffer glanced eagerly around for her, but then steeling herself, she went to the man. In spite of herself, there was something in the baby’s cry that tugged at her heartstrings, urging her to move. And after all, she mused, she needed to convince them all that she’d embraced her lot if she was ever to escape it.

  As she walked across the stifling platform, Tora placed a hand on her stomach. Ever since that awful, heavy breakfast at the inn, she had felt queasy. The sensation brought tears to her eyes.

  Kristoffer glanced at her, misreading her misty eyes. “You are sorry to see them go?”

  She stifled a smile, ready to take advantage of his concern. “Yes. It makes me feel just that much farther from home,” she said prettily.

  “You will like Camden-by-the-Sea,” he said, taking her arm as Lars nestled underneath her chin, despite the heat, and soon quieted. “I have sailed there many times with Peder. There are shops and a bookstore that will keep you busy when you need a distraction from the boys.”

  “I hope so,” she said. Together they left the station, and Kris hailed a cab, a black coach with one horse. Someday, she would have her own George IV phaeton like those she saw on the streets of Boston. The elegant coaches were slipper-shaped and open so that a lady’s fine dress might be seen. Yes, that, and a matched span of golden horses to lead it. She would go fast, everywhere, for time was of the essence. They all wasted so much time! Five more months would seem like an eternity.

  Tora glanced over her shoulder as she heard the whistle of another train leaving the station. What she wouldn’t give to be on it, going to someplace exciting, where things happened. Instead she was destined to board that cursed ship again and be carted off to some sleepy town to the north. Such was her life. But her time would soon come.

  Peder breathed a sigh of relief as he and Elsa hailed a hackney, a coach for public hire. He felt as if half his responsibility had departed on that train after five long years of planning. He wished them the best. He and Karl had told the men all they knew about the rough country to which they were headed, hoping to impart a sense of realism. But he knew that they remained hopeful that their land would be all the railroads promised, an Eden in a world of deserts. “Father, be with them,” he prayed quietly as he settled into the coach beside Elsa.

  She bowed her head beside him, joining in. “Yes, Father. We ask that thou wilt watch over them. Help them to make good decisions and avoid harm. Help them find fertile land in which to settle and build. And go before them always.”

  “Amen,” Peder said, placing his arm around her. “And now on to our new land. Are you excited?”

  “Terribly. But I am glad so many of our people go with us. If they all had departed on that train, I am afraid I would be horribly sad.”

  “This from the woman who says she’d like to set sail with me!” Peder said, making a point. “I can just see us in Hong Kong and you begging me to leave because you are homesick. No, it’s obvious to me that a woman needs a village, a community to which she belongs.”

  Elsa was silent, looking down at her hands as a muscle in her jaw worked. When she spoke, her words were measured. “A woman’s place is beside her husband. Yes, I might be lonely without friends and neighbors aboard, but I would be much more lonely without you.”

  Peder glanced at her. How were they to resolve this? He had hoped that her comment meant that she had at last come to agreement with him. “I was pleased to see Tora go to Kris this afternoon,” he said, tactfully avoiding the subject that got them both so upset. “She seems to be coming around. Perhaps with time, she and Kris will become … attached.”

  “I think that is far-fetched,” Elsa said gently.

  “You never know.”

  “No, I suppose not. But I’m certain Tora has something else in mind. This time in Camden is like a prison sentence to her, and she’ll look for any opportunity to dig a tunnel to what she considers freedom.”

  “And if she escapes?”

  “So be it. I cannot be her keeper. And I would only lament placing such a bur
den on Kris.”

  “You will take in his children if she abandons them while we are at sea,” Peder stated.

  “I will take them in if we are at home,” she corrected, with no note of aggression in her voice. “And I will speak to Ebba Erikson or Ola Thompson about it when we sail.”

  Peder thought about setting her straight, then elected not to press the issue. There was time enough to convince her. Once they were in Camden and she had the task of settling her new home, Elsa would be so busy she probably wouldn’t notice when he sailed without her. What they needed were a few children of their own, he thought, warming to the idea.

  Yes, with a few children, Elsa would be happy to stay at home.

  bitter truths

  September 1880–April 1881

  Elsa absently wandered around their Camden cottage, missing her husband for the fifth time that day. He had been at sea for six weeks, leaving after a terrible argument in which he forbade her to come and commanded her to stay.

  “Please, Peder. Don’t you see? It is because I love you that I want to be with you.”

  “No, Elsa. I’ve made my decision. You must abide by it.”

  “Just like that? What if I do not think you have given it the consideration it warrants?”

  He had stood there, glowering. “Do not second-guess me.”

  “Do not dictate to me.”

  “It is finished. Done. I have decided.”

  With all these thoughts crowding in on her, she needed air. She stepped outside onto the verandah. The beauty of the autumn day caught her eye and momentarily eased her anguished thoughts. The leaves were turning, the sky was a bright blue, and Elsa felt the urge to paint the scene. Seizing any idea that might afford some distraction, she hurried to her supplies and brought out a fresh canvas, a pencil, and her newest adventure in media, oil paints. She would illustrate their home on a small canvas so that she might mount and frame it for Peder’s cabin on the Herald.

  Our cabin, she corrected herself. As beautiful as her new home was, she was determined to be on the next outbound ship with Peder.