She stared at him, her eyes shimmering with tears, then turned and walked to the door, crying already.
Kaatje was gone. Soren had stolen her away.
“You had better heed my warning, Soren Janssen,” he whispered angrily through his tears as he left Kaatje’s home. “You hurt her this time, you’ll be accountable to me.”
thirteen
Late September 1888
By some miracle, the Majestic made incredible time to San Francisco, even with the loss of one mast. The ship’s carpenter had brought the broken white pine log down, cutting the base in a way that a new mast could be easily grafted on once they reached Ramstad Lumberyard. The prices in San Francisco for a sizable mast would be exorbitant, and Elsa refused to purchase one there when, after a week’s further sail, they could pick one up for no cost at all. No, in San Francisco, they would simply replace the boiler and get back to sea. Elsa twisted her hands as the ship was brought into the wharf by a small steamer tug. They might still make Tora’s wedding if all went well.
She accompanied the children into town, agreeing to explore Chinatown with them. Eric came too, ostensibly to sightsee, but more likely acting as a self-appointed bodyguard. Or responding to Riley’s direct orders, she mused. Riley stayed back to oversee the purchase of a new boiler and, hopefully, negotiate an immediate installation. Oh, how she hoped that he would receive good news and that they could soon be underway!
The children requested dim sum—a light meal of finger foods—for their noon dinner, and Elsa agreed with an easy smile. Being in the hills of San Francisco with the smell of hot oil in the sea breeze and the bustling of people in traditional costume made her remember pleasant times in the Far East. It was interesting to her that her first thought was not of Mason Dutton and his attack upon her, but of fragrant lotus blossoms and friendly people. Of rickshaws and heavily wooded mountains…
“Captain?” Eric was asking, looking at her with a slight frown.
“Oh, forgive me. I was in another world. What is it?”
“Is this restaurant suitable for the children and you?”
“Yes, yes. And please, won’t you join us?”
“I will be fine, ma’am. I’ll just stand outside the door while you eat.”
“Nonsense! You’re eating with us. Captain’s orders!” She smiled as she said it, then took his arm as he opened the door for the children.
He grinned back at her. The sun had spread freckles across his fair skin, making his teeth all the whiter. Distantly she considered Eric as a potential suitor. Just two inches taller than she, he was bright and quick on his feet, as fast with a joke and a tender word as he was in directing the men as second mate. No, it would never work, she decided, chastising herself for her fanciful imaginings. Even if he was interested in her, she did not feel that certain tug in her heart that she should feel toward someone she could grow to love. And any man would have a difficult time seeing his superior, his captain, as a…woman.
As Eric pulled out her chair and the waiter passed them menus, Elsa wondered just who would ever pursue her. She was fairly well-to-do now, with holdings in Camden and Washington, not to mention the twenty Ramstad ships that floated the high seas, two having been sunk during severe storms. She spent the majority of her time on the seas herself, taking her away from any potential suitors ashore. Just who would ever match her?
“Are you having dim sum too?” Eric was asking her, looking over the menu.
“I think not,” she answered. “Orange peel beef sounds good to me. And what do you think, children? Shall we have rice, snow peas, and mushrooms, then caramelized apples for dessert?”
“Yes, yes,” they said, bobbing their heads.
She turned to the waiter and pointed to what they wanted, using scattered Chinese when she could.
When the waiter looked confused, Eric stepped in, speaking in fluent Mandarin.
“Eric!” Elsa said. “I never knew you spoke Chinese!”
“I lived in Beijing as a child.”
“Beijing! Whatever took you there?”
“My parents were Christian missionaries.”
“Goodness. Americans, I take it.”
“Yes.”
“How long were you there?”
“I was in a missionary school until I was seven. My parents were killed by an influenza epidemic in ′65. America was at war then, so I couldn’t go to my grandparents’ in Virginia. Instead, an uncle, a captain of an old brigantine, took me in, showed me the lay of the sea.”
Elsa’s hand went to her chest. “I had no idea, Eric. I feel so sorry for the child that was you.”
Eric nodded and placed his elbows on the table. “They were trying times. But I didn’t really know my parents. They had left me at the school when I was three, along with an older brother.”
“And your brother? Where is he?”
“He turns a coin as a lawyer in Boston. I see him from time to time. He has a family of eight.”
“Eight!” Kristian exclaimed. “I wish I had that many brothers and sisters.”
The four of them said grace, and then the children picked up the flat, angular spoons and began eating.
“I bet they love to see you, hear your stories of the sea and distant lands.”
“The children do. Not so, my brother. I think he had his fill of distant lands in those years at the school. He still blames God for taking our parents.”
“And you?” Elsa asked carefully.
“I think we live in a fallen world. Disease is a part of it. And disease was what took my parents, not our Lord.”
Elsa enjoyed the rest of their meal, their conversation, and their walk back to the cable cars. When she pushed herself, she had to admit she liked the more intimate male companionship. She was constantly surrounded by men aboard ship, but they were under her command. Eric, too, was under her command, but that day in Chinatown, she felt they were on equal terms, at least for a few hours, and Elsa liked it.
San Francisco was truly a wonderful city, Elsa mused. Part of her wished she could stay longer, call upon old friends who now resided there. But she was anxious to get going northward.
And yet it was not to be. Riley had succeeded in obtaining a new boiler but could not secure delivery for three days.
“You tried paying them a rush charge?”
“They said they’d take the money, but couldn’t guarantee any sooner.” His Cockney accent grew thick with his frustration. “There was no budging ’em, Cap’n. The boilers are in much demand, and there just aren’t enough to go around. I was fortunate to be able to get one at all.”
“At what price?” she asked, trying not to cringe as she awaited an answer.
“Double what your boys in Camden paid, I’m sure.” When she groaned, he said, “I ha’ something that will lift your spirits.”
“What?” she said miserably. Suddenly she was weary, anxious to get home, to land for the winter. To be with her friends and family in Juneau.
“This was waiting for you at the harbor master’s office.” He pointed to a wooden crate she hadn’t seen until now. “Did I miss your birthday?”
“No,” she said in puzzlement. There was no return address, just a typed label with “Captain Elsa Ramstad” and the harbor’s address on it.
“Harbor master said it’s been here several months. They were taking bets, wondering what one sent the Heroine of the Horn.”
Elsa gave him a look reminding him she did not care for her old moniker. She’d given up her column a year prior, feeling as if her time for writing was simply over. She concentrated on her paintings instead, developing a new style that was more representational than her old realistic depictions. It entertained her. But now her thoughts were only on the crate.
She grabbed an iron bar as Kristian entered the cabin. Spotting her with the box, he ran over and jumped up and down. “What is it, Mama? What is it?”
“I do not know,” she said, clenching her lips together as she pushed on the r
eluctant lid.
“Want some help, Cap’n?”
“No, Riley, thank you very much. I think I can handle…this.”
The top gave way, the nails squeaking in protest. Elsa lifted the lid and set it aside, careful to point the exposed penny nails downward so Eve wouldn’t crawl over them. The boy was already digging through the straw. “There’s a box, Mama! A box!”
“Well, lift it out.” She was as excited as her son but tried to hide it.
The elegant box had a Parisian label on it. Riley lifted one brow.
Elsa opened it and unfolded the tissue inside. Underneath was the most exquisite silk ball gown she had ever seen. It was the color of ivory, with the hint of gold spun into the fabric. The low-cut bodice was heavily decorated with pearls and lace.
“Is it a wedding gown?” Kristian asked.
“No, darling. It’s a ball gown.” She lifted it out and spread it before her as she looked in the full-length mirror. “The most beautiful ball gown I have ever seen.” And as she stared at her reflection, a lump formed in her throat.
“What is it, Cap’n? Tell me.”
Eve came to her and patted her knee.
“It’s…it’s nothing.” She shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. “Well, almost nothing. It’s just that no one has bought me a gown since…since Peder.”
Riley awkwardly came near and patted her on the shoulder.
“There’s no note? No card?” Elsa asked.
“No. I have to say, ma’am, that I think all these gifts you’ve received are troublin’. You don’t know who sent them or why. Any friend of yours would be certain to at least tell you that it was from them.”
“Oh, Riley, you’re so suspicious. Mason Dutton is dead. I have no other enemies. Sometimes cards get lost. Or harbor masters lose them. These gifts are fine, from fine friends.”
“And expensive.”
“Yes. Please…let me enjoy it. Don’t ruin it!”
“All right, all right. I just don’t like it. Something’s not right. This makes, what? Five gifts with no notes?”
“Seven, counting the Stetson hat from Denver and the Persian rug.”
“Seven.”
“All right, Riley, I understand you. We’ll figure out who sends me these things. It must be Tora. She’s an imp when it comes to surprises. And she has the means now, with the new roadhouses and all.”
“It doesn’t make sense,” Riley said, shaking his head. “It’s been going on since before they reached Alaska. Miss Tora had no means before then.”
“Nonsense! Trent has been pursuing her for years. Please,” she said, turning toward him. “Let it go. We’ll figure it out.”
“You bet we will. I have something else for you,” he said, changing subjects.
“What?”
“It’s an invitation to the Harvest Ball from Mrs. Jones. She must have found out you were in town. So now you have a place to wear that pretty dress.”
“Oh, I couldn’t.”
“Yes, you could.”
“But I have no escort.”
“I’m sure any one of the men, including me, would be happy to escort you. You might have to buy them new duds, but they’re all itching to get into town, even if it’s to some highfalutin society ball.”
Elsa laughed and stood again to look at her reflection in the mirror. “I do not know if I even remember how to dance,” she said.
“Can I practice with you?” Kristian said helpfully.
Elsa laughed again, then turned to Riley. “Do you think Eric would accompany me? Is it too much to ask?”
“No, woman,” he said tenderly. “I’m sure he’d love the chance to dance with the beautiful Captain Ramstad.” He stepped closer to her. “And I’m sure your beloved Peder, God rest his soul, will dance up in heaven at the sight of you in that dress, having fun again.”
“Do you think so?” she whispered.
“I know so.”
She was out for a walk the next afternoon with the children, when she spotted the elegant steamer in port. She stopped a man who had just exited the gangplank.
“Excuse me, sailor, but from where does the Fair Alaska hail?”
“She’s a Ramstad Yard ship out of Camden,” he said, looking her up and down.
Elsa ignored his brazen stare. “I knew it! I knew she must be a Ramstad! And her captain?”
“Why, that’d be Captain Martensen.” Karl! “Captain Karl Martensen?”
“Yes’m.” The man straightened up when he realized she knew Karl by name.
“Is he aboard?”
“No ma’am. He left this morning and hasn’t been back since.” “Any idea when he will return?”
“No. I’m not a part of his crew, just doing some woodwork installation in the ballroom.”
“The ballroom?”
“Yes ma’am. This steamer is going to be the prettiest on the Pacific. Word has it that Cap’n Martensen aims to please the high-society crowd anxious to see the glaciers up in Alaska.”
“Ah, yes. That is a good plan. He’ll have little competition.”
“Say, you look familiar. You’re not. No, it couldn’t be. You don’t happen to be—?”
“No, I’m sure I am not,” she quickly interrupted. “Come, children.” They walked away, down along the piers that made up San Francisco’s wharf. The air was filled with the scent of fish, creosote, rotting wood, and ocean air.
“Whose ship was that, Mama?” Kristian asked.
“Why, that’s Uncle Karl’s.”
“Uncle Karl’s?”
“Yes. He’s been designing his own ships these last three years, and that must be his latest.”
“She’s very nice. I like the lines of her bow.”
Elsa paused, amazed at the adult tone of his statement. “You’ve been paying attention to lines, have you?”
“Yes. I like them. Will we see Uncle Karl?”
“I hope so. It’s been too many years since we had the chance. But it sounds like we’ll have many this winter. Uncle Karl appears to be setting his sights on taking tourists along the Inside Passage. Surely he’ll be stopping in Juneau and Ketchikan where Auntie Tora and Kaatje have inns. We’ll cross paths all the time!” She felt herself grinning and wondered at herself when she couldn’t seem to stop smiling.
She hailed a cab when they reached the harbor master’s office, intent upon finding suitable slippers to wear with her new gown to the ball.
Karl went to the window of the harbor master’s office, sure he had just seen Elsa Ramstad. But she was in a cab and off down the block before he could make his way to the door and outside. He grimaced and shook his head. He must have been mistaken. But he couldn’t quite shake the sense that he had really seen her. He strode back up to the harbor master’s desk and inquired, “Pardon me, but can you tell me if a Captain Ramstad has entered port?”
“Don’t even have to look at the books on that one,” the young man drawled. “The Heroine of the Horn arrived yesterday and is set to leave in a few more. You know her?”
“I do,” Karl said, stunned. “Tell me, did she retrieve a package here?”
“Her mate did. First day in.”
Karl smiled. She had received the gown. Would she be at the ball? Would she wear it? He hoped so.
At the cobbler, Elsa had been intercepted by Mrs. Smith, a prominent San Franciscan and an old acquaintance, and had accepted her kind invitation for supper. She sent a cab with a note for Riley, informing him of where she and the children were, knowing he would fret if she didn’t return on time. She had such a good time with the Smiths, she didn’t leave until ten o’clock that evening, sent home in the Smiths’ own coach. It was too late to call upon Karl then, she realized, disappointed. It would just have to wait until the next day. Eric appeared at her side on the wharf and helped her with the slumbering children, wrapped in wool shipping blankets.
She awakened the next day to a clear autumn morning. The breeze off the water was brisk, and she d
ressed the children in their warmest traveling costumes. No doubt she would be too cold in her gown that evening, and her dress coat was so out-of-date. Once more she hailed a cab and headed to town, this time without the children, intent upon finding the perfect shawl. It had been years since she cared about what she wore, and now she found herself acting like a silly girl in dressing up for the ball.
But if Karl was there, she wanted it to be…she wanted it to be…perfect. The idea that her reunion with Karl excited her beyond the normal bounds of friendship finally pierced her heart.
What was this? Some sudden interest in an old friend? Or was it merely the hope of meeting a man who was truly on her level, a man she could admire?
Karl agreed to dance with Mara once again, wearily aware that she played a game with her friends, putting on a face of love with him even though he knew her to be deeply angry with him. It came out in small asides and demands that made the evening long—just an hour into it.
Elsa still had not arrived.
He escorted Mara out onto the dance floor for another turn, then politely asked if he could get her a glass of punch.
Petulantly she agreed, taking his arm and pulling him close as if they were inseparable. It was her youth, he supposed, that pushed her to pretend so. Grateful to her for taking his rejection with a fair level of maturity, he played along. They chatted with friends of the Kenneys, who chided him in roundabout fashion for not making a proposal to Mara at an event like the ball, where they could all enjoy it.
Suddenly Karl was anxious to get out on the dance floor again away from the speculation.
Elsa gasped when she saw him. Eric looked every bit the gentleman as he took off his top hat and bowed deeply to her. The men were grouped around him, eager to see their captain in her lovely new dress. When she appeared at the door, they cheered.
“Ne’er had a cap’n that was a looker, too!” one called.
“If Eric fails ya, come back for me!” shouted another.
They all laughed together.
“Oh, Mama!” Kristian cried. “You look like a princess!”
“Aye, ya do,” Riley said, drawing near. He took her hand and kissed it. “Won’t get too close. Don’t wanta dirty your dress. But you’re a sight, Cap’n. A sight.”
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