Northern Lights Trilogy

by Lisa Tawn Bergren

  Storm led her to a bar in one corner, on which was a china platter filled with a variety of pastries and a sterling coffee urn beside china cups. “You will stand here, alert for the slightest indication that one of my guests needs attention. Think you can handle that?” he asked with a wink.

  Tora swallowed her pride and her indignation at his tone. “I think I can,” she said, chin up.

  “Good girl,” he said, winking again, then turned to greet his arriving guests.

  A well-dressed, middle-aged man and woman entered first, and Tora stepped forward to take the woman’s bag and light wrap. Trent smiled his approval. Tora turned to begin arranging coffee cups as he greeted the others. She listened to their conversation and learned that the first couple was Mr. and Mrs. John J. Hall, of John J. Hall Incorporated, whatever that was. She wished she were one of the finely dressed ladies being waited upon rather than the servant. With her back to the room as she set the cups on a silver serving tray, Tora listened as John Hall made his own introductions.

  “Bradford Bresley, I’d like you to meet two friends of mine from the Saint Paul, Minneapolis, and Manitoba line, Anton Gagnon and Rupert Conley. Gentlemen, my associate Bradford Bresley. Ah, and here is my newest associate, Karl Martensen. And I think you know my lovely daughter, Alicia.”

  Karl! Karl Martensen? Tora swallowed hard. It could not be! Surely it was another man with the same name. But with a quick look over her shoulder, her heart sank. It was Karl. He was here. And he could undo everything, for Trent Storm would not employ the young mother of an abandoned infant.

  Alicia Hall sat down on a velvet couch and pulled off her kid gloves. She shot Tora a look of irritation. “Girl, I need you to do something with these.” Not wanting to attract Karl’s attention, Tora ducked her head and hurried over to the young woman.

  “Certainly,” she said, her voice barely audible. “Would you care for some coffee, miss?”

  “Tea, preferably. You do have tea for me, don’t you, Trent?” she called out flirtatiously.

  Tora ducked back toward the counter, hoping against hope that she could make it through this perilous predicament without Karl recognizing her and causing a scene.

  “Of course! The maid will see to it,” he called. It grated on her to be called a maid, but Tora was glad he had not used her name. Perhaps if the men became engrossed in conversation …

  With a loud hoot of the whistle, the train began moving, and Alicia squealed in glee. “No matter how old I get, Mother, I never tire of a nice train excursion.”

  From the other side of the car, her father said, “A fine attribute in a daughter, I’d say. Now, gentlemen, you’re probably wondering what I have on my mind. Can you believe it involves money?”

  Thankfully, as the men settled into their conversation, Karl took a seat with his back to Tora, and somehow she managed to deliver Alicia Hall’s tiny silver teapot and cup and Mrs. Hall’s coffee without dropping them.

  “Good heavens, girl. Are you all right?” Mrs. Hall asked her, observing Tora’s shaking hands.

  “Oh, fine, ma’am, fine. Thank you for asking.” But the woman was already turned away from her, looking out the window. How many times had Tora dismissed a servant in similar fashion? Licking her lips nervously, she went back to the counter and poured coffee for the men. She counted it a minor miracle when all were served and none glanced up at her face, including Karl.

  John Hall was deep into his plans, outlining how he intended to take the St. Paul, Minneapolis, and Manitoba line west, fulfilling a long-sought dream of making it a transcontinental line to Puget Sound. “I’ve already reached my goal of taking her to the Canadian border, and I don’t need to tell you how well we’re faring from that venture,” he said, gesturing about them. “My friend Trent here saw the wisdom of my decision and cashed in. Now we head west. Minnesota and Dakota Territory will finance us as we haul the immigrants’ grain to market in the cities. In addition, we’ll sell off land from our grants as we pass, and Karl and Bradford here will set up steamboat operations on each waterway as we go, keeping our fingers in the pot as the towns behind us grow.”

  Tora noticed that they neared the bottoms of their cups but was hesitant to refill them. The thought of nearing Karl terrified her. Steeling herself and taking a deep breath, however, she filled the silver serving pot from the urn and walked with trembling steps to the men. Their attention remained on John Hall.

  “You want to hear more?” he asked, grinning.

  “Yes,” they said as one.

  Certainly this John J. Hall held the keys to more futures than anyone she had ever met, Tora thought. If she messed this up, her ascent to society would be done for good.

  She took a step backward as Hall lifted his coffee cup in a toast, as if it were a flute of champagne, waiting for the others to join him.

  “Gentlemen, I salute the future. Our future,” he said, looking around closely at each man present. “I say here’s to the future of the Manitoba Road. May she one day be called the Great Northern Railway when we reach the Puget Sound.”

  They all said “hear, hear,” in agreement, following his lead in looking out to the prairies they rushed by, and continued their discussion in detail.

  Hall set his coffee cup on the table and nodded for Tora to refill it. She watched as the hot, brown liquid cascaded out of the pot, pulling it up just as the coffee reached the proper level from the china rim. She moved toward Karl’s cup and felt herself blush, sure that he was staring at her. As John Hall began speaking again, she dared to look at Karl. Her heart stopped as his eyes met hers.

  Tora’s wrist went limp. Slowly the coffee poured out the spout, onto the table, then splashed into John Hall’s lap.

  Hall cursed. Tora gasped. And Karl leaped to his feet, handing Hall his handkerchief.

  “Oh, I’m sorry! So sorry!” Tora said, frightened by what she had done.

  “Miss Anders!” Trent said in dismay. The women had stopped talking to watch the horrible spectacle.

  “I don’t know what happened!” Tora cried. “I’m afraid I’m not well.” This was not a convenient lie; indeed, she did feel faint.

  Karl took the silver pot from her hand and set it securely on the table, then turned Tora toward the back of the train. “I’ll just see her to a seat. John, do you need anything?”

  “A new suit,” he said, managing to laugh. “I get all dressed up for our meeting, Trent, and what do you do? Bring in a girl to spill coffee all over me!”

  “I’m very sorry, John. The girl is new and inexperienced, but I didn’t know she was ill. We will see to the cleaning of your suit.”

  “Fine, fine. Martensen? Martensen!” Hall turned to look at Karl over his shoulder before he could say a private word to Tora. “The maid will be fine. Get over here and listen to my plans. Together we are going to own the Great Northern! And Trent will feed our customers!”

  When the train returned to Duluth that afternoon with the Hall party aboard, Karl had to fight off the urge to drag Tora off by the hand and demand her story. Instead, he continued as he had throughout the trip, steadily ignoring her. Still there was no getting past Alicia’s eagle eye. As much as he appreciated the attentions of the lovely Miss Hall, he felt as watched over as a goshawk. Sailor superstition maintained that a goshawk brought luck, but if hurt, would be the undoing of a ship. What would happen if he crossed Alicia?

  At the station, he alighted from the Pullman, then reached up to help Alicia down the stairs. Once at his side, she entwined her arm in his. Since she was much shorter than he, Karl was careful to keep his stride short. He met her gaze and smiled. She was lovely and obviously very interested in him. He had to be the most blessed man in America—a great new job and an attentive girl on his arm. After years of living in Peder’s shadow, the future was his. This had to be of God, he told himself. A normal path did not twist to blessings as it had for him.

  Alicia squeezed his arm and looked at him steadily as they walked through the
station and outside to a hotel coach that awaited them on the street. “So, Mr. Martensen, are you going to tell me about the girl?”

  “The girl?” he feigned ignorance.

  “The girl,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “Out with it. Who is she? An old love?”

  “She’s from Bergen too. I knew her a very long time ago.” Karl did not know why he protected Tora; he just did. It irked him that he was not entirely honest with Alicia, but somehow he had the distinct understanding that if Alicia felt that someone was in her way, she would destroy her. Like her father before her, he mused, remembering Brad’s warning. Tora was obviously trying to make a new start in life. Could he deny her a second chance?

  “Well, I must say, Mr. Martensen, I am relieved you do not have feelings for her. She’s obviously an incompetent servant, not worthy of your attentions.”

  “As opposed to you, Miss Hall?”

  “Why, I would not even care to compete with the girl. It is obvious for all the world to see that you only have eyes for me. She would be hurt.”

  Karl grinned at her precocious words. “We cannot have that,” he said.

  Alicia was a very pleasant distraction indeed, he thought. Given enough time, and with her on his arm, Elsa would recede completely from his thoughts, becoming a dim shadow in the bright light of his future.

  By June, Peder had improved remarkably. In the last week, he had even taken to standing at the helm for an hour a day. Not his usual six, but thrilling for Elsa to see anyway. The crew relaxed, again under the supervision of their well-respected captain instead of his bride—and Elsa relaxed too. She began a new painting, of the Sunrise battling to pass the Horn, interrupting it occasionally to sketch rare seabirds that she had never seen before.

  She and Peder greeted each morning side by side on deck, the crew about them. Peder had taken to leading them in a brief morning prayer, and it gladdened Elsa’s heart. Apparently their adventures in the West Indies, Karl’s sudden departure, and Peder’s illness had brought him closer to the Lord than ever. You see, she mused silently, all things do work together for good. If only she felt closer to him. It was more than his illness and the responsibility of his captaincy. Peder had grown distant, aloof. She must find out what was troubling him, for something obviously was.

  She raised her nose to smell the cool breezes that coaxed the sails high above them to a full loft. They traveled in a northeasterly direction now, the sails close-hauled to make the most of the wind. Soon they would reach the equatorial calms, or doldrums. They’d had little trouble at that latitude in the Atlantic. Would they have a more difficult time in the Pacific? She hoped not. Suddenly Elsa ached for land. For a good meal at a fine restaurant. To discover a new city. San Francisco promised to be grand.

  As the crew dispersed that morning, Elsa drew Peder aside. “May I speak to you in private?”

  Peder raised one eyebrow. “Certainly. Our cabin?”

  “No. Up here. Follow me.” She hoped he would smile, but he did not.

  “What is so important that you must pull me away like this?” She ignored his irritable tone and led him forward to the bow, pulling him close when they were behind the foremast. How good it felt to be in her husband’s arms again! She stared up into his eyes, noting that the malarial yellow was beginning to recede in favor of the bright white of health. There was even some color in his cheeks now. If she could just get him to eat more …

  “Elsa?” Peder asked in irritation. His hands dropped from her side.

  She looked at him quickly. Yes, something was definitely bothering him. It was more than his illness, the Horn, and his mate again in chains below.

  “Peder, please,” she begged, growing more alarmed. She took his hand in hers. “Tell me. What is bothering you? What is it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s you. Us. What has happened? There is a wall between us.”

  “I do not know of what you speak.” His jaw was tight, clenched.

  “You do,” Elsa said softly. “Please tell me.”

  “Not now, Elsa. I have a ship to tend to.” He turned to walk away, paused, then looked over his shoulder at her. “If that makes you unhappy, you need to rethink your course of action.”

  Elsa frowned, wanting to weep in frustration. What was he talking about? Of course he had to tend ship! But why not talk to her? What was wrong?

  Elsa felt her heart sink. If they could not even discuss it, how would they ever resolve it?

  It was the third time that week that Trent Storm had come to call on Tora, and the girls in the dormitory were in a frenzy.

  “He’s in love! The man’s in love!” Missy Alexander said from the doorway, enviously watching Tora brush out her hair and wind it into a graceful chignon.

  Tora picked up the beautiful pearl comb that Trent had given her the day before and thought about Missy’s words. The girl was an idiot in most cases, but perhaps she was right. If so, it was a minor miracle, Tora thought, remembering that horrible day over a month ago on the Manitoba train.

  She had left the Pullman car last, barely able to hold back her tears. To begin again would take weeks, and her resources could not handle such a setback. Why, she would have to sell her gowns just to pay the hotel manager!

  A hand reached out to her, and she glanced up. Trent Storm stood on the platform below, waiting to help her down the stairs.

  “There is no need to fire me, Mr. Storm,” she said as she took his hand. “I know I failed you. I … I don’t know what happened. Suddenly I felt so faint.”

  His eyes, instead of being angry, held compassion and concern. With a hint of doubt. “You knew him, didn’t you?”

  “Who?” she asked, feigning ignorance.

  “That man. Karl Martensen.”

  “He looked familiar,” she hedged. “It brought back bad memories that I’d rather not go into.” Tora pulled out the stops on her feminine wiles, aware that Trent was opening an escape hatch. She fanned herself with her hand as if faint again, hoping to distract him. “If you’ll excuse me,” she gambled, “I’ll get out of your way, Mr. Storm. Surely you have many girls more suitable to apply for this job. Good day.”

  She walked away, her head high, her heart sinking with each step she took away from him. Her pace slowed to a dispirited trudge. Her ruse had not worked. She had talked herself out of the job, not secured it. Would she ever learn when to speak?

  Two blocks away, she dared to look back to the station. Trent was nowhere to be seen. Her spirits dismal, she slowly walked back to her hotel. As she climbed the steps, however, her eyebrows lifted in surprise. Trent Storm sat in a chair on the porch, rocking as if he had all the time in the world. He was dreadfully handsome, she thought, and as dangerous-looking as a riverboat gambler she had seen en route to Minnesota.

  “You’ll have to move faster than that if you wish to work for me, Miss Anders.”

  “W-work for you?”

  “Indeed. I don’t know what you’re hiding, but I find it amusing to think about.”

  Miffed at being a target of his amusement, Tora looked away, debating between her desire to tell him what he could do with his job and her dire need of employment. He smiled as if reading her thoughts.

  “Are you seriously offering me the job, Mr. Storm?” she asked, unable to curb the insolence in her voice.

  His smile turned into a grin, revealing even, white teeth. “Yes, you will be fascinating,” he said.

  “Are you quite finished being entertained?” She turned to go.

  “One more thing. Miss Anders.”

  “Yes?”

  “Is there someone I should speak to? You see, I would like to call upon you.”

  “Me?”

  “You.”

  Tora’s mind whirled. “Why, Mr. Storm, is that acceptable? What would your friends say?”

  He laughed. “Miss Anders, I live to please myself alone. So is there someone I should speak to? Or will you turn me down here and now?”

>   Tora stuck her nose in the air. “You may call on anyone you wish. Good day, Mr. Storm.”

  His laughter followed her into the hotel. And then he called, “See you tomorrow at eight, Miss Anders!”

  Thus their relationship had begun. It was a confusing mix of employer and employee, widower and young love. Love? Yes, she supposed it could be true. But what was love to feel like? And could the man of her dreams have popped up so soon, so easily on her path? It seemed odd to her that something would come without striving. Surely it was a sign that something better was around the next corner. Perhaps Trent Storm was only her entrée to society. From there, she might meet another.

  She frowned into the mirror. Why was it so difficult to envision herself with another? He had only been courting her for what, a month? Yet somehow he had seeped into her life so thoroughly that she could not remove him from her mind.

  “Missy,” she said, deciding to take control. “Please send word down to Mr. Storm. I am not well and wish to lie down. Make my apologies for me.” She turned the pearl comb over in her hand. He was so sure he had her. Well, no one had Tora Anders until she wanted to be had. It was high time that Trent Storm learned she would not be at his beck and call.

  Karl made his way out of the stuffy cabin crowded with people and perfume, glad for the fresh air off the Saint Croix River. The Halls frequently hosted parties aboard their steamboats, chugging for hours along the riverbanks as their guests drank themselves into oblivion. Karl had had his share that night and was feeling a bit woozy by the time he reached the railing. He had been with John J. Hall Incorporated for over a month, and his skyrocketing career had made him numb to his surroundings.

  He leaned over the rail and watched the ice clink in his crystal glass. In the dim light from the cabin, the glass reflected a rainbow of colors, suddenly reminding him of watching Elsa on board the Herald and seeing the northern lights. Almost a year ago, he thought. How life had changed in such a short period of time! Without another thought, Karl dropped the glass, watching as it fell away from him and into the black, churning wake of the ship.