“Sure. Should I walk you upstairs?”
His chivalry touched her. “No. Thank you though. I’ll be just fine. I’ll see you at half past the hour.” She left him at the main stairway, climbing to the private wing that housed her bedroom, Kaatje’s, and the girls’. In the other wing were Trent’s and Charles’s rooms, plus the six remaining guest rooms. Jess and Christina were probably already in the kitchen, finishing their contribution for the evening: twenty batches of cornbread muffins. Yes, Tora could smell the roasted corn-meal already.
So she was alone and ready to figure out why she was feeling so strangely. What is it, Lord? she prayed silently. She dropped onto her four-poster bed, feeling the feather mattress gradually cease bouncing. What is it? Am I to pray? For Kaatje? Is she in danger? Was this the reason for her sudden unease? That God wanted her to ask for protection? It felt right, that danger was looming for someone close to her. Tora moved off the bed and to her knees.
“Father in heaven,” she whispered fervently, her forehead against her knuckles, her eyes squeezed shut. “You have given me so much, and I am thankful. I praise your name that thou hast delivered me from my sins and made me free in thee. You have moved my heart today, and I do not know why. If Kaatje is in danger, please protect her. If you are trying to prepare me for something, open my heart. I am yours now, Lord. Thou hast made me thy servant. Show me the way. Show me thy way, Father. What you want of me. What you want me to do. Open my eyes. Amen.”
Tora rose and wiped her eyes. It seemed she was given to tears of late, especially when something moved her as she had just been moved. She looked at her image in the mirror, shaking her head. “Enough. You cannot worry about it any longer, Tora Anders. Whatever is ahead of you is ahead! And you will get through it, good or bad, because God is with you.” She unpinned the back of her hair, stroked it with a horsehair brush five times, then wound it back into place and pinned it.
Downstairs, she entered the kitchen and soon found out that their hostess was ill and unable to come to work. “Never mind,” she told Sara, a pretty Irish girl that Trent had hired. “I’ll don an apron and lend a hand tonight.”
Sara’s eyes grew large in her gaunt face.
Tora laughed. “I was a waitress once too,” she said. “Let’s get the tables set and extra sets of utensils wrapped in napkins. Judging from last night’s crowd, it’s bound to be busy.”
Tora was soon proven right. Shortly after the dining room’s twenty tables were filled, a line began to form outside. Tora hoped the cook had made enough ham and vegetables, and that the cornbread muffins would last. It smelled heavenly, even outside, and it was bound to get ugly if the hungry men had to be turned away. Still, they managed well, serving a hundred in the first hour. She was perspiring, she was moving so fast, working to help Christina and Jess clear the tables as the waitresses served and collected payment for the meals. When the men had to stand in line outside for an hour, she poured each of them a complimentary glass of lemonade, thanking them for their patience. She knew a smile, a cool beverage, and a word of thanks went a long way toward maintaining a benevolent atmosphere. Many sat down in line, conversing with others, content to wait for the home-cooked meal.
She had just cut off the line at the end, refusing any more customers in fear they would run out of food, when her eyes were drawn to a rowdy table. The noisy bunch could be heard over the other seventy men in the room. It was typical, in a town as rough and tumble as Juneau, to draw the same caliber of men. But when she saw a large man grab Sara’s apron strings and pull her backward to him, Tora became “as mad as a skinned rattlesnake,” as Charles liked to say. How dare someone manhandle dear, sweet Sara!
Tora motioned to the boy clearing plates nearby. “Go get Trent and the cook,” she said urgently, moving on without waiting for the others. She practically ran to the back table, where Sara was now struggling to get away from the man who held her, while his companions laughed.
“What is this?” she demanded, grabbing the man’s long, thick fingers and trying to pry them off of Sara’s waist. “What is this?” she demanded of the whole table. “You think this is a sideshow? Some house of ill repute? You may not treat our staff in this manner! Out! The whole lot of you! And never come back again!” She sensed Trent’s presence behind her, and then the cook’s. The men scooted their chairs out and rose reluctantly. She guessed that most were a decent sort, but they had crossed the line by allowing their comrade to behave in such a fashion.
Still, the man who held Sara resisted. Tora looked at him in outrage. “Did you not hear what—”
Horror swallowed her tongue. She shrank back against Trent, while Sara and her captor stared at her in surprise.
It was Decker. Decker. He was here, in Juneau. Right here! In front of her!
Didn’t he recognize her? The woman he had kidnapped and raped? She was shaking her head, moving around Trent, stumbling backward, intent only upon escape. He looked confused by her sudden change in demeanor. There was a flicker of recognition as Trent yelled, “You heard her, men. Out! All of you!” They were grumbling and moving toward the door as Tora disappeared into the kitchen.
Everything in her told her to run, run away, run fast from the worst nightmare of her life coming back to haunt her once more. The door swung shut behind her, but Tora kept backing up until she felt the rear door. Then she slid into a corner, under a counter full of dirty dishes. Dimly, she realized the children were staring at her, asking her something. But all she could do was shake her head. Shake her head and mumble, “It cannot be. It simply cannot be.”
Suddenly Trent was in front of her. “Tora! Tora, sweetheart, what is wrong?” He shook her hands in frustration and gently slapped her cheeks. Tora pushed him away with dazed motions. “What is it, Tora? You’re shaking! Are you ill? Tell me what is wrong!” Through the haze, Tora felt him wipe away the tears on her cheeks, his voice growing more frustrated. “What is it? Tell me!”
“She said she had a headache earlier,” Charlie said.
“What’s wrong with her, Trent?” Christina asked over his shoulder, looking as if she wanted to cry herself. Her expression made Tora want to pull herself together, to stand and be strong, but the wave of evil that had just reappeared in her life overwhelmed her. It was all she could do to keep it an arm’s length away.
“I do not know,” Trent said. He bent and pulled Tora up, lifting her and carrying her out of the kitchen and quickly up the stairs.
She looked wildly over his shoulder, mumbling, “Is he gone? Is he gone?”
“He’s gone,” he said reassuringly. They reached her room, and Trent gently laid her on her bed. He stroked her face and hair until she stopped crying. “Tell me,” he said quietly. “Tell me, Tora.”
But she could not. Despite all they had been through, all they had talked about, she could not bring herself to tell her fiancé that he had just met the man who had abused her and set her on a train like a common hobo.
Trent sat with her for an hour, and when she pretended to sleep, he sighed and finally left her side.
Tora felt ashamed all over again, reliving those days with Decker and his men. On Thanksgiving Day, they had kidnapped her from the teacher’s cottage she lived in. After that, nothing had been the same with her again. Part of her rejoiced for the change it ultimately wrought in her, but not now. All she could think of now was what Decker had robbed her of: her sense of security and self-respect. The thought of ever seeing him again sent fear reverberating through her body, making her tremble once again.
She could hear the sounds of the restaurant shutting down, the staff leaving, the rattle of keys as the door was bolted. They had carried on, serving the men and cleaning up the kitchen, probably pretending that they were not thinking about Tora upstairs.
She rolled over on her back, staring at the high ceiling. As the night wore on, her trembling ceased and her head began to clear. She knew she had to get up and go tell Trent the truth—whom they had encountered
. Otherwise, he was liable to find Decker to ask him himself. She shot out of bed at the thought of it, pausing briefly to regain her equilibrium. She heard the girls in their room, whispering. On the other side of the stairs, she could see Charles’s light pooling under the door; he was probably reading. Trent’s room was dark. As it was downstairs. Where was he? Her heart began pounding. Had she missed him? Had he gone somewhere?
“Trent?” she called softly, padding down the stairs. The restaurant and foyer were dark except for a lamp burning on the front desk, where Trent kept the books. It was the huge room’s only light. She walked toward it, hungry for the safety it seemed to yield by simply burning.
Behind her, she heard the familiar sound of the kitchen door opening and then swinging shut. She whirled. “Trent?” she said, hearing her voice shake. She lifted the lantern above her head. The shadows were deep. Had someone ducked into the stairwell? “Charles?” she asked softly, her heart in her throat.
When there was no response, she backed toward the front door. She felt as if a vise were squeezing the breath from her lungs. The presence of evil was palpable. It was dark, foreboding, threatening to overtake her and make her disappear forever.
“The Lord is my shepherd,” she whispered, in full panic now, still backing up, looking from one side of the room to the other. From what she could see, she was alone. But she didn’t feel alone. “I will fear no evil.” Behind her, she felt the knob of the front door and turned it. Locked!
“No, no,” she whimpered, giving in to the terror surrounding her. She set the lamp down by her feet and slammed on the glass door with the palms of her hands. “No! No!” she screamed, certain she was being approached from behind. The street outside was empty. She madly tried the knob again, hoping against hope it would open.
But he was already there. Turning out the lamp. Rising to pull her toward him, covering her mouth before she could scream. Chuckling at her futile struggles, he simply waited for her to stop. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she grew still, remembering how he always had liked it when she fought him. “Imagine my surprise,” he whispered in her ear, his voice low, his breath warm. “Imagine! My sweet Spokane flower here in Alaska! I thought I sent you on a train to Seattle, and here you are. Or was it that you were missing me, sweetheart? Come looking for your man?” He pulled her away from the door, and all her hope receded with it. It was dark, so dark.
“Who’s the man, beautiful? Word has it that it’s Trent Storm. You weren’t serious when you told me you were engaged to the famous Trent Storm, were you? Was that the man I saw today? Is he the man who’s going to take you away from me?”
The click of a revolver being cocked froze them both.
“That was the man,” Trent said.
Trent was here! Tora’s pulse raced even faster. And he had a gun! He could save her! “Step away from Tora right now before I shoot straight through your stupid skull.”
Decker moved as if he was going to comply, then whirled Tora between himself and Trent’s revolver. He began pulling her away from Trent, toward the back. “Don’t do it, Storm, or she’ll be dead.”
Sudden clarity overtook Tora. She knew she could not be alone with Decker ever again. She couldn’t take it. She couldn’t live though it again. “Trent, listen to me!” she cried. “Shoot him!” Trent walked after them, matching Decker step for step; she could make out his dim outline. “Don’t let him take me, Trent. Don’t let him. Shoot him!” She grabbed at chairs, at tables—anything to impede Decker’s progress.
When they reached the kitchen doorway, the sudden light blinded her for a moment. She held on to the doorjamb, staring into Trent’s eyes. His pistol was still aimed above her right temple. “Shoot him,” she said, suddenly deadly calm. It was as if she were separated from her body, watching it from the outside.
He looked from Decker to her in that instant, and Tora knew she was lost. “I cannot,” he said helplessly, and she knew it was fear for her safety, not a lack of courage, that kept him from it.
Decker laughed and pulled her through the doorway.
The swinging door was closing behind them, separating Tora from Trent for what seemed an eternity, when a shot exploded from Trent’s pistol.
Decker convulsed and released her immediately, leaving her back strangely cold for an instant. As if in a dream, she wondered if she had been shot and felt her clothes for the telltale wet pool of blood. She turned and saw Decker on the ground, clutching his shoulder and writhing in pain.
He was swearing, screaming, but it sounded like a whisper to Tora. Then Trent was beside her, still pointing his revolver at Decker, while Tora turned away from her attacker and into his secure arms.
She felt Trent tense and noticed that Decker had quieted. Was he getting up? Coming after her again? She looked quickly. He was on his knees, seething with anger, his hand pushing against a gaping wound in his shoulder. But Trent stopped him with the pistol, mere inches from his face.
“Move again and you’ll be dead, man,” Trent warned, his voice even. “It’s only because I’m a man of God that you’re not dead already. But I am still only a man. You have two choices. Die now. Or go to jail and await your sentencing. One way or another, you will pay for the crimes you have committed.”
He stepped in front of Tora and bent lower, taking the man by the collar. “I will see to it myself,” he vowed. “Do you hear me?” His voice rose to a scream. “I will see to it myself!”
seven
July 1888
Elsa paced as Riley brought the Majestic into the Panamanian harbor of Cristobal. She was anxious to get ashore, to bathe and have her feet on solid ground. For as much as the sea had stolen her heart, coming into port never failed to excite her. Or her children. They bounced up and down around her, pointing out different things on the verdant, tropical shore and yelling in their excitement.
The sailors at the capstan released the heavy chain, and the anchor left the ship with a tremendous splash, followed by the clunking whir as it descended to the harbor floor. Riley reversed the ship’s engines, bringing the giant steamship to a halt.
“Come, Mother,” Kristian begged, pulling at her hand. “Let us be on the first launch ashore!”
“All right, all right,” she said, laughing. She self-consciously smoothed her tailored walking dress of brown plaid and then nodded again at her children. “What do you want to do first?”
“I want to go to the Taylors’ to fish, and I want ice cream at Señor Manuel’s!” Kristian said.
“We will go for ice cream after our noon meal,” she returned. “And I will send a note to Mrs. Taylor asking if we may call upon them.” Adrian Taylor was the American consul general to Panama. Elsa and Peder had been introduced to Adrian and Isabella a number of years prior, and Elsa and Isabella had become fast friends. The Taylors’ son, Michael, had a birthday within days of Kristian’s, and the boys got along splendidly. Elsa knew that as soon as the Taylors heard she was in port, they would invite the Ramstads to stay. She looked forward to their visit with pleasure.
“Cap’n?” Eric Young, her second mate, called. “You and the young’uns want to be first ashore?” Eric had joined her and Riley on her first voyage out of Seattle after Peder’s death. At first, Elsa had wondered if he would challenge the authority of a female captain. But the glint in his eye proved only to be a mark of good humor and quick wit, rather than defiance.
“Aye, Eric. If I do not, I fear a mutiny among our smallest mates.”
Eric laughed and then grabbed Kristian, hanging him upside down. The boy screeched in delight.
“Not before I throw this pirate over the side!”
“Let go o’ me, you filthy bilge rat!” Kristian yelled.
“Kristian Ramstad!” Elsa reprimanded. “You know better to say that, even in jest.”
“Ah, now, Cap’n,” Eric said, coming to Kristian’s defense. “That isn’t the worst the boy hears.”
“Please, do not remind me. In any case, he is a R
amstad, and my son. I expect him to speak in higher regard to the second mate of this ship, or to any elder, for that matter.”
“Captain—” Eric stopped as he met her determined glance, then he set Kristian to rights. “Better mind your step, Kristian,” he said, ruffling his sandy hair, “or the cap’n will tar and feather you.” He bent down and whispered something in the boy’s ear, and Kristian laughed.
“I will choose to ignore that,” Elsa said. She was sure the comment was at her expense, but she valued the rapport Kristian had with the crew even if it meant a little chafing on her behalf. They were his father figures, after all, the men he would eventually emulate. And Eric and Riley and Cook were all admirable men. She accepted Eric’s proffered hand and climbed aboard a small boat that was tied at the side of the ship, then reached for her children.
When Riley and several select sailors were aboard with them, those still aboard began the process of slowly lowering them to the turquoise sea. There were small waves today as the wind was up, and they lapped against the side of the boat once it rested.
“Heave ashore, men,” Riley directed.
Four men, each at a long oar, did as he directed, singing a sailing song that kept time for their rowing. Elsa smiled at the sound of the men’s voices blending in a nice harmony. It warmed her heart like the sun on her broad-brimmed hat, these men and their solidarity. They were sound company, but still it would be good to be with another woman. Her smile broadened as she thought of Isabella Taylor. In some ways, the woman reminded her of Kaatje, with her fierce loyalty and steady composure. In others, she reminded her of Tora, with the proud way she held her shoulders back and her chin high.
Perhaps they needn’t wait through the formalities of an announcement of their arrival and an invitation. No, she would simply surprise her friend. After taking their noon meal at a restaurant, of course. She wouldn’t want to impose. But remembering Isabella’s warm smile, Elsa doubted it would ever be an imposition. They had met at Lady Bancock’s ball in Honolulu, then later in Japan, and still later in Maine. Isabella’s husband, a Mainer, had been a sea captain like Peder before turning to politics. After a brief term as a United States senator, Adrian Taylor had accepted the post as consul general in Panama.
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