Northern Lights Trilogy

by Lisa Tawn Bergren

  Trent raised an eyebrow. “Resorting to threats, Tora? You must really feel as if your back is against the wall.”

  “I feel I have few choices.”

  “I’ll send you, my dear. But I will send you where I can keep a close eye on you.”

  “I do not need a father’s eye, Trent.”

  “You need someone.”

  “And you, Trent? Do you need anyone?”

  He smiled. “I do. Don’t we all?”

  They finished their noon meal while discussing the places Tora could go and the potential of various sites for a new Storm Restaurant.

  “Do you have the time?” Tora asked as the waitress cleared away their plates.

  Trent took out his pocket watch. “It’s a bit after one o’clock.”

  “I must go. I do not want to be late for work,” she said with a wink. “The boss is liable to fire me.”

  “Or take you out for dinner. Tonight? Eight?”

  “I am sorry. I do not get off shift until nine, and that’s a bit late for supper. Tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow, then. I would see you to work but I have business down the street.”

  “That’s all right. Good day, Trent.”

  Trent Storm watched Tora Anders’s trim form disappear through the hotel doors and past the wide windows. She was a fireball, that one, and planning something more than she would admit. When would she be honest with him? When would she tell him the truth? Tora Anders was hiding something. He was sure of it. It was both frustrating and intriguing.

  Trent rose and threw some cash on the table, picked up his hat and cane, and departed. Looking east and west, he thought twice about what he was about to do. Seeing little choice, since she was ready to leave, he ambled down to a three-story brick building and climbed the stairs to the top. He knocked on a glass door painted with the words Private Investigation and entered without waiting.

  “Mr. Storm!” the small man enthused as he rose from behind a giant wood desk. His walls were strewn with maps, many covered in red as if tracing a trail. “What can I do for you today?”

  “Hello, Joseph. I want some family history on one of my employees. Make that everything you can learn about her.”

  “Giving you trouble, sir?”

  “You could say that. I want everything. And soon.”

  “I’ll do what I can, sir. What is her name?”

  “It is Tora Anders. At least that’s what she has told me.” He tossed the man a piece of paper from his vest pocket. “That’s her last known address.”

  “Camden-by-the-Sea, Maine, eh? Unlimited expense account as usual?”

  “Whatever you need. Just get me the information as quickly as you can.”

  “Good enough, Mr. Storm. I’ll get you everything I can as soon as I can.”

  Trent nodded and turned to go. He looked over his shoulder. “And Joseph?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “It is imperative she not learn of your presence.”

  “Understood, sir. I’ll be like a shadow in the dark. Yes sir, a shadow in the dark.”

  Karl wished he could blend back into the shadows of John Hall’s library, to leave and not remember what he had just heard. Alicia had warned him … he had gotten hints of what Hall was capable of … but still, he was as flabbergasted as Brad at what his friend had been ordered to do.

  “You heard me. I want you to go down to the docks and pay off every one of Parker’s clients to end their business with him. Tell them that John J. Hall will keep them in business with his own shipments. In fact, he’ll double their money for a year if they agree to it.”

  “You’ll put him out of business, John,” Brad tried again. “He has a family, employees—”

  “As do I,” Hall said, rising behind his desk. His eyes never left Brad’s. “If Parker did not want a war, he should never have intruded on my territory. For years we’ve coexisted—until he went after the Sullivan warehouse business.”

  “One business, John? Is that enough to declare a war over?” Brad asked.

  “Are you questioning my authority?” Hall asked. “Certainly you’re smarter than that, regardless of the company you keep.”

  Brad’s eyes narrowed. Karl fought off the urge to take a step back from the fray. Instead he said, “Why do we not focus on the new business at hand, John? You yourself said our future is out west along the railroads. Brad and I leave tomorrow for Montana Territory to begin siting waterways for potential business. Why obsess on one warehouse, here?”

  Hall’s eyes did not leave Brad. “This is about more than the future of business. This is about loyalty. This is about honor.”

  Brad guffawed. “You speak of a bribe as honorable? You’re pushing me, John. You want me out because I’m seeing Virginia Parker? Why are you so distrustful … so suspicious? I’ve been working for you what, eight, nine years? Isn’t that enough proof of my devotion?”

  “I think you’ve said enough,” Hall said quietly. “Your decision is clear. You may empty your desk and turn in your key tonight. I want you out. Never return.”

  “Just like that?” Brad asked, incredulous.

  “Just like that.”

  Karl swallowed hard, unable to believe what he was hearing. Surely John was bluffing. Brad had made him hundreds of thousands of dollars on deals.

  “That’s fine,” Brad said sourly, striding toward the door. “I am tired of your gray areas and your almost-unethical, almost-illegal dealings. I wash my hands of you and John J. Hall Incorporated. Thank you for making my decision for me.” He glanced back at Karl with a look that said Are you coming? then realized Karl was hopelessly entangled. “I’ll see you later, Karl.” He slammed the door behind him.

  “I do not want you to see him again, son,” John said, coming around the desk to place a hand on Karl’s shoulder.

  “You cannot ask that of me. Brad is my friend.”

  “He has betrayed us.”

  “Betrayal? He simply hesitated doing what you asked.”

  “You are soon to be family, Karl. You must behave like it.”

  Karl was sputtering, searching for words, when John reached inside his vest pocket and withdrew a fat envelope.

  “Your first share in the steamboat enterprise, Captain Martensen,” he said quietly, then turned and went to the other side of his desk.

  Karl swallowed hard. The creditors were nipping at his heels. Striving to court Alicia in the manner to which she was accustomed was eating him alive. The cash in the envelope was certain to keep them at bay. He had no choice. He had to remain silent. Swallowing once more, he turned to go, ashamed of himself for not defending Brad, for not speaking up for what he believed to be right.

  “Oh, Karl,” Hall said, as if just thinking of something.

  “Yes?” he managed to say in a civilized fashion.

  John rose and came around the desk again. “I want you to visit the Parker accounts yourself. With Bradford out of the way, you’ve become my number one man. Congratulations. I’m making you my vice president. With an appropriate raise, of course.” He reached out his hand.

  Numb, Karl met it with his own cold, clammy fingers.

  “Alicia will be thrilled, son,” John said.

  “Thrilled,” Karl mumbled, and turned to flee the dark library before it swallowed him whole. He closed the double doors behind him, breathing hard as if he had just run the mountainous staircase before him. Upstairs, he could hear Alicia speaking with a maid, directing her. Had she taken her laudanum today? he thought bitterly. Was it purely for medicinal purposes as she maintained? He glanced over his shoulder. And who was John J. Hall, really? Was he in league with the devil? Just what had he gotten himself into?

  He raised his hands to his face and rubbed hard. Suddenly he felt very alone and very lost. Father, he tried. Father, are you with me? But as usual of late, he felt very far from God. Why was it that when he needed his Savior most, he felt distant? What was blocking him from the comforting presence of Christ? He closed h
is eyes, resisting the urge to sink to the glossy parquet floor.

  “Karl?” Alicia asked, suddenly standing before him. “Are you all right, darling?”

  Karl opened his eyes and stared down at her. “I cannot speak with you now,” he said. “I will see you later.”

  “But darling,” Alicia said, staying him with her hand. “Isn’t it wonderful? Daddy said he would tell you tonight.”

  “Tell me what?”

  “About making you vice president, of course.”

  Karl frowned, his mind racing. “He knew? When did he tell you that?” He turned and gripped her arms, wanting to shake her.

  She winced. “Ouch. Unhand me, Karl, that hurts!”

  He immediately dropped his hands. “Forgive me. But please—when did he tell you?”

  “This noon over luncheon. Why?” Her look was confused, innocent.

  “He knew!” Karl swore under his breath. “Do you not see?” he asked Alicia. “He fired Brad to clear the way for me. He had it planned all along! He asked Brad—”

  “It’s only natural, Karl. He wants the best for you. For us.”

  “At what expense?” Karl asked in exasperation. He waved toward the library doors. “I did not ask for that.”

  “No. I did.”

  “What?”

  “I did. I happen to know that you’ve had some financial difficulties of late and wanted to help.”

  “So you asked him to fire Bradford?”

  “Of course not. I simply mentioned it to him and knew he would take care of it. I leave business to the men in my life.”

  Karl laughed mirthlessly. “Right. Look, Alicia, I have to leave. I need some time to think this through.”

  “I don’t like it. Don’t leave like this, Karl.” She stepped toward him, her arms tightly encircling his waist.

  He frowned down at her. She looked needy, desperate to hold on to him. He shook off her small arms and turned away.

  “Karl!” she called. “Karl!”

  But he did not turn back. He walked to the front door and outside, fighting the urge to run all the way. The air outside was blessedly cool, and Karl gasped for breath as if he had been wrestling with a shark underwater. Maybe I have, he mused silently. Maybe I have.

  Kaatje sank to her knees on the hard floorboards in the small house and wept. It had been a fine harvest for the Janssens and a pretty decent one for her neighbors—even those on drier lands. She was to have taken the wheat to market along with the other Bergensers the next day. But it was not to be. The buzzing sounded at eight, and Kaatje had gone outside to see what it was. A great, black cloud of locusts raced toward the homestead, hungry jaws set for the dried grain. By the time they were done four hours later, they had eaten everything, including the wooden handle of the pitchfork Kaatje had flailed uselessly at them.

  The girls wailed from their bassinets behind her.

  What was she to do? It was all gone. She had no reserves, and it had been months since she had heard from Soren. They would starve. All three of them. Or throw themselves on the mercy of her neighbors.

  On and on she wept, unable to hear anything besides her own grief. Soren was gone. Her friends had helped to bring in the crop, and now it was gone too. She would lose the farm. Where would they go? All the pain of the last months came rushing forward, and Kaatje felt lost in her sorrow. “Lord! Lord!” she cried over and over, incapable of anything more.

  She did not know when she gave in to sleep, right there on the floor. But she was awakened when the door suddenly opened, and she squinted against the bright light of a setting sun. The girls whimpered from their bassinets, too exhausted to do more.

  Nora Gustavson sighed and rushed in to help Kaatje to her feet. “Ah, Kaatje,” she said. “It is the same everywhere. We have all lost what we worked so hard for. Here and there a farm was spared. But the Bergensers—we all lost everything. Poor Birger’s sheep and goats will even have to struggle for food. But here,” she said, leading Kaatje to the bed and going to tend to the children. Her own newborn baby was strapped in a sling to her ample body. She pulled a fresh bottle of milk from her basket and quickly filled the girls’ bottles. “My Jersey cow will not have much more milk. It is a good thing our children are almost ready for solids, eh?”

  “If we had solids to give them,” Kaatje said miserably.

  “Do not worry,” Nora said sternly. “You have your Bergen family. Where we go, so will you.” She handed one bottle to Jessica’s eager hands and the other to Christina, then quickly changed their diapers and soaked blankets.

  “Tonight we meet at Pastor Lien’s home to decide our next step,” she said. “The banker has already said no loans. A disaster area, he called it, as if we didn’t know! None of us have enough funds to help support the others through the winter. Our men must go to work on the railroads. They intend to keep pushing the Northern Pacific west through the winter. And you will come with us.”

  “I do not wish to be a burden,” Kaatje said miserably.

  “Enough of that,” Nora said firmly. “This disaster will prove to be the best thing that ever happened to us. You will see.”

  Kaatje snorted in disbelief. “How? Nora, we just lost everything! How can you be so cheerful?”

  “If one does not look up, there is only down.”

  “Or ahead.”

  “Exactly. Look ahead or above. But do not look down any longer.”

  Kaatje looked away, still numbed by her loss. Her crop. Her husband. Her future. It was all gone.

  “We will find a way to last through the winter. And in the spring the men will find us better land, not so picked over.” Nora told her. “I hear in Washington Territory they never have to pray for rain! It is plentiful!”

  “But Soren—”

  “We will leave word where he can find you. We have no choice. You have no choice, Kaatje. You cannot waste away here, alone, with two small children. Come along tonight. Hear what the men plan to do.”

  Kaatje felt numb, uncaring. Nora was like the locusts, eating away at her until she agreed. “I will come and listen. Now leave me, Nora. Leave me be.”

  They had weathered one storm off the coast of Chile, and two and a half days later, Peder’s crew was bracing for another. In between there had been calms—lulling Peder into hoping they might make it past the Horn without another—when the first blast of the Roaring Forties hit. Immediately, he sent his men to their quarters for oilskins. They lashed the oilskins at ankle, waist, wrist and neck, not in hopes of keeping dry, but rather to keep out some of the cold.

  Elsa looked out their cabin window as Peder donned his own oilskins.

  “Snow. What must winter be like down here?”

  “I’d rather not stay to find out. Some captains would risk crew and ship to pass the Cape come winter, but I am not ready to take that risk.” He looked at her without wavering. “You will stay put?”

  “Please, Peder. I have been practicing—you’ve seen how I do on the rigging. Like a regular monkey, Riley says. You could use another set of hands.”

  “Believe me, it will be better if I do not have to worry over your safety. Please, Elsa.” He cupped her cheek in his hand. “For me. Stay put. Tell me I do not have to worry over you.”

  “You will not have to worry over me. I will stay put.” She grimaced at his look. “I promise. No adventures outside. Be careful, Peder.”

  “As always, love. I’ll come and check on you as I can.”

  A knock at their door startled them both. Peder opened it to find Riley, holding on to the doorway as the ship lurched and rolled. “Cap’n! Anchor came right over the starboard side before we could lash ’er down! A couple a’ men are injured!”

  “Bring them in here!” Peder shouted over the wind. “Elsa will tend to them!” He turned back to her for a brief kiss, the spray of a giant wave filtering in around him, then ran toward the bowsprit where the men continued to wrestle with the huge anchor.

  Within minutes, two sailors wer
e unceremoniously dropped off, and Elsa set to work. One was unconscious, bleeding from a head wound; the other moaned over a broken arm. She shivered in the frigid air that blasted through the door and peeked outside. Thirty men were aloft, all working on furling the foresail, beating ice out of it as they did so. Fifteen others were on the starboard side, with body and soul lashings on—the lines that tied around their bodies and held them to the ship—and another fifteen on the port side. Elsa shuddered and wondered how they would all survive such fierce weather. Gritting her teeth, she slammed the door before more water could wash in.

  She hoped the men had gotten the nets out above the bulwarks. They had saved four men during the last storm. Remembering her own terrifying slide down the decks, and Karl’s saving presence, Elsa prayed as she grimly set to work. “Father God,” she whispered. “Watch over my husband and these good men. Keep us all safe and see us through the storm.” She looked from one man to the other, unsure of how to proceed. Cook, who usually looked after such matters, would be working madly to prepare food for the ravenous men, who would dash in for a quick bite whenever they could. Elsa had little medical knowledge, so she decided to simply do what was obvious.

  Taking a clean blanket off her bed, she folded it once and laid it on the wood floor of the study. Then she unlashed the oilskins of the unconscious man, dumping out the water inside and patting his soaked clothing until it was damp. He was shivering uncontrollably. Deciding it was no time for decorum, she took off his shirt, hoping to bring up his frightening body temperature. With a heave, she dragged him into the study, right by the iron stove. After laying him on the blanket, she ripped a strip off an old cotton dress and wound it around the poor fellow’s head wound. It was a nasty gash.

  “Tobias!” she yelled to the other sailor, who was still moaning over his arm. “What’s this man’s name?” She almost had them all memorized. But this man was unknown to her, obviously a new recruit from the last harbor in Chile. He had jet black hair and bushy eyebrows, a nice chin and mouth. He was probably little older than sixteen years of age.