Northern Lights Trilogy

by Lisa Tawn Bergren

  Elsa smiled, a bit embarrassed at the attention. It was like having forty older brothers seeing her off to the dance. No doubt dear Eric had taken his share of ribbing.

  “You’ll get the children right to bed?”

  “Soon as you’re off the gangplank, Cap’n. Go have fun.”

  “Three cheers for the prettiest cap’n on the Pacific!” shouted one of her men.

  “On all the seas!” corrected another.

  “Hear, hear! Hear, hear! Hear, hear!” They rumbled as one.

  Elsa was sure she blushed the color of Riley’s red handkerchief around his neck. “All right, boys. You’ve earned some shore leave for that send-off. Riley, assign ten men to stay on watch until ten o’clock. Those men that have to stay on get the whole day ashore tomorrow. Then I want the lot of you aboard tomorrow night by ten, because the next morning we sail.” She felt a bit foolish taking command in her finery, but she could not help it.

  “Bye-bye, Cap’n!” called a sailor in a high-pitched voice above her. Elsa looked up and saw about ten men on the lanyard. She laughed. They were all dressed as voluptuous women, wharf girls with dark, red painted lips, in blankets that simulated tawdry dresses. They delicately waved white silk handkerchiefs at her in an obvious imitation of society women. “Think they’d welcome us at the ball, Captain?” one asked in his falsetto.

  “I think not.”

  “Hmm,” sniffed another. “Just because a girl ain’t got the right dress, is that it?”

  By now some of the men below were rolling on the decks they were laughing so hard. Riley wiped away tears from his eyes while Elsa grinned.

  “Not all of us get dresses delivered from mysterious admirers,” sniffed still another man.

  “Apparently all of you are not as deserving as I,” she tossed back.

  The men laughed. Elsa laughed with them. They were boys in men’s clothing. And “women’s.”

  “Ta ta!” called one, waving his handkerchief. “Ta ta!” echoed the rest on the lanyard.

  Elsa laughed even harder, waved back, and then shook her head. From the side of the ship, they hooted and hollered as she took Eric’s arm, and then again when she grasped his hand to climb into the phaeton cab. Eric laughed. “You can put the boys in different clothes, but they’re boys no matter what,” he said.

  Elsa looked at him strangely. Hadn’t she just thought something similar herself minutes ago? Maybe they had more in common than she knew.

  They arrived after a ten-minute ride to the Saint Ignatius Hotel. The hotel boasted of its new electrical capabilities, and Elsa gaped at the huge crystal chandelier above them in the foyer, warmly lit by hundreds of tiny flickering bulbs. “Just think, Eric,” she said, leaning closer to him. “In a few years, we’ll see many like that. Can you imagine? A whole city lit up like midday!”

  “It will be remarkable. Shall I check your coat?”

  “Certainly,” she said, admiring his formal language. She remembered that underneath that sailor’s exterior he had been raised to be a gentleman.

  They walked down a long hallway, following the noise of music and revelers, and, after turning again, spotted men and women in elegant dress entering and exiting the grand ballroom.

  Elsa smiled in appreciation as she entered. There were hundreds of people present, dancing underneath the tiny white lights and streamers of fall-colored leaves. The light cast a warm glow over everything. Elsa found herself immediately scanning the crowd for him. For Karl Martensen. But there were so many people that Elsa despaired of ever finding him.

  She had been dancing with Eric for over an hour before the master of ceremonies called for a cotillion dance, in which everyone would take part. “I don’t know if I know this one,” she whispered to Eric.

  “I do. Follow me!”

  Elsa wondered again at her second mate. Just where did he learn the cotillion? He laughed at her confused expression. “My uncle was a sea captain, but a gentleman through and through. He had me take dance lessons every year. Now follow me.”

  He took her hands in his big, rough ones. His touch was gentle but sure. It felt good to be touched again, even by a friend. Few touched her other than her children. And nobody with the assurance of a man leading a woman on the dance floor. “Now lift your hands,” he said, gently lifting them upward and over her head. “Turn halfway,” he said in time with the music. “And again. Now around me.” When she came back around he held her at the waist and pulled her closer. “Thank the Spaniards for their influence,” he said, smiling into her eyes. Then he turned her around for two quick twirls. “Now, my dear captain, you are on your own.”

  “What?” she gasped as he left her, and suddenly she was in front of another. A bit late, she lifted her arms, then caught up on the half turn.

  “Are you Elsa Ramstad?” the man asked.

  “I am,” she said as he twirled her around.

  “It’s a pleasure. Alfred Cummings,” he introduced himself.

  “Mr. Cummings.” She nodded once, as she met up with her next partner.

  Three partners later, she lifted her arms, getting into the cadence of the dance, enjoying herself, when she stopped, letting her arms slowly drift to her sides as she stared. “Karl,” she breathed.

  “Elsa,” he greeted her, slightly shaking his head and smiling. “Elsa Ramstad. You’re as lovely as ever.”

  She was lovely. The loveliest woman at the ball in that dress of ivory and spun gold. Just as he knew she would be when he’d seen the gown at the shop in Paris. It was meant for her. Her hair, the color of a harvest moon’s reflection in a glass of champagne, was the exact same hue, and it made her blue eyes seem bigger somehow. “It’s been too long, my friend.”

  “Too long indeed. Come, let us get out of the way of the dancers.”

  “Oh yes!” he said, suddenly aware of others in the room. For a moment, it was only he and Elsa. He took her hand, slender and yet strong in his own, and led her off the floor. They each retrieved a glass of punch and walked to a small archway off the dance floor.

  She stood away from him as if suddenly shy.

  “Elsa Ramstad, you’re the most beautiful woman in this room.” He couldn’t help himself. She was.

  “Surely not.”

  “Disagree if you must, but it’s the truth. Who escorted you?” he asked, scanning the room.

  “My second mate, Eric Young.” “A good man, I hear.”

  She lifted a brow but let his comment go. He’d have to be more careful; she’d find out how much he kept track of her and her crew.

  “And a surprising one. I keep finding a new reason to like him more.”

  Karl faltered at her candor. Was there something between them? Did he have any right to the sudden jealousy in his heart? He supposed no one would ever be right for Elsa, in his eyes, other than Peder. Or himself. And there was no chance of that ever happening!

  “And you?” she asked.

  “I escorted Mara Kenney.” He held his tongue, suddenly anxious to explain the true nature of their relationship. But she had not asked, and to volunteer such intimacies would seem ungentlemanly.

  “A fine family. I met the elder Kenneys at another ball, years ago. The girls were just…” She broke off, apparently embarrassed.

  “It is all right, say it. They’re still girls.”

  “That’s true. Why, she must be half your age!”

  “A bit scandalous, no?” He was teasing her, wondering what her reaction would be. He couldn’t help himself. “Plenty of men take brides much younger than themselves.” It was out before he could stop himself. He wanted to know how she would take it, if she cared at all. If she would be jealous, as he had been at the mention of Eric Young.

  “I suppose they do,” she said, turning slightly away. “Elsa, I—”

  “Karl Martensen!” cried Mara, suddenly at his side. “I look away for one moment, and suddenly you’re talking to another woman!”

  He bit back a sharp retort, wanting to send he
r back to her mother where she belonged. “Mara,” he said instead, “I would like to introduce an old friend. Captain Elsa Ramstad, meet Miss Mara Kenney.”

  “Elsa Ramstad!” Mara gasped. “Karl, I had no idea you knew the Heroine of the Horn! Wait until I introduce you to my friends, Captain Ramstad! Oh, it will be just wonderful!”

  “I am sure,” Elsa said vaguely. She shot him a look that said “This is your love interest?”

  He smiled in frustration. There he was, wanting nothing more than to stare at Elsa in that dress, to catch up on old times, and instead he had immediately gotten off on the wrong foot. Before he would allow Mara to drag Elsa off to meet her friends, he said, “Mara, would you excuse us for one moment? As you know, I had Ramstad Yard build my steamer, and I need to speak with Captain Ramstad about it.”

  “Oh, Karl. This is hardly the place for business.”

  He flashed her a smile. “I know. Forgive me. Give me just one minute, and the captain and I will join you and your friends.”

  Mara reviewed her choices. “Very well. One minute,” she stated.

  He turned away from her with a sigh and back to Elsa. She awaited him with a knowing smile. “Got yourself in deep again, didn’t you, Karl?”

  “Yes. I have a bad habit of that.” “You wanted to talk business?”

  “No! No,” he said, taking her hands in his. “I simply wanted one more minute with a dear friend I haven’t seen in years. It is so good to see you, Elsa. Truly. Are you here long? I saw your ship yesterday and inquired after you, but you were in town.”

  “As I inquired after you,” she said, pulling her hands from his to take two crystal cups from a passing waiter’s tray. She gave one to Karl. “That’s quite a beauty our yard turned out for you. And I hear she has a ballroom.”

  “Indeed. Perhaps you’ll come and join me for a dance sometime.”

  “You’re going to Alaska?”

  “I am. As fast as I can.”

  “Then we’ll be in a race. From Washington to Juneau, as soon as we replace our mast.”

  “What? Truly? You’re going to Juneau too?”

  “Trent and Tora are soon to get married, if they’re not already. I want to be there. As soon as we stop off for a new mast at Ramstad Lumberyard and for Mrs. Hodge in Seattle, we’re heading north.” She brought her crystal cup to her lips. Karl loved her lips. Even settled, they looked as if they had a slight smile to them. He reminded himself not to stare. Besides, she was a friend, and a friend only. If ever they were to be more, it would be up to her. Never again, as God was his witness, would he make an unwelcome advance upon her. The last time he tried, it had torn them apart and killed his friendship with Peder.

  “Oh,” he sighed, “Mara is waving at me. We had better go. So it sounds as if we can meet up in Seattle? Go from there to Juneau together?” He took her hands again. “Think of it, Elsa. We can get to know each other again, rekindle our friendship. I would love to know your children.”

  She smiled then. “I’d like that too. So next week in Washington?”

  “Next week in Washington,” he whispered, suddenly able to lead her to others when he knew he would soon have her all to himself.

  Elsa danced the rest of the evening with Eric, with Alfred Cummings, with any man who asked. But never with Karl. Why did he not come to her, invite her onto the floor? Gradually her gay mood faded as she brooded over the fact that he never asked, but instead twirled the lovely, but so young, Mara Kenney about the floor. She saw them laughing together, whispering another time. And still later, she watched as Karl bent and kissed her cheek. They were a striking couple, she had to admit, but something just didn’t settle right.

  On the way home in the cab, Eric turned to her. “Are you all right?”

  “Oh yes. Why?”

  “You’ve become more and more quiet as the evening went on. In fact, I would say it all started when you ran into Captain Martensen. Yes, that’s when I noticed the change.”

  “You noticed no such thing,” she directed, suddenly the captain again. “I am fine. Nothing changed.” She was irritated at his perception, for being put on the spot. Consciously, she gentled her tone, knowing he thought he had hit the nail on the head. “It was a lovely evening, Eric. Thank you for agreeing to escort me.”

  He turned to her and grinned. “It was my pleasure. Do you know how much I’ll get out of this? The boys will be begging me for stories all the way to Juneau.”

  “You’re a good man, Eric.”

  “And you’re a fine woman, Cap’n. The prettiest at the ball. I was a proud man tonight.”

  She looked down at her lap then, to the beaded purse. His words echoed in her head, bringing back memories of Karl saying he, too, thought her pretty. It made her sick to her stomach. Why was that? Did she not want her old friend admiring her, giving him a chance to “rekindle,” as he said, something more than friendship? No, that wasn’t it. He was handsome and smart and obviously well established, by the look of his new ship. What was niggling at her?

  Elsa thought back to watching Karl and Mara, unable to enjoy her own whirl across the dance floor as she did so. Why was she not happy for them, a couple who were so beautiful together?

  Then the thought struck her dumb.

  She was jealous.

  Jealous of Mara Kenney.

  “You’re a sorrowful mess, Elsa Ramstad,” she whispered. “What?” Eric asked.

  “Oh, forgive me. I’m just talking to myself.”

  “An odd habit,” he said, giving her a wink.

  “An odd habit, indeed.” But she wasn’t thinking of odd habits. She was thinking of Karl Martensen, with his ponytail undone, his hair waving in the wind. She was thinking of a gold loop through the hole in his ear and his collar open a few buttons.

  Elsa was thinking of what a fine man he was and how she wished it had been she, instead of Mara Kenney, that he had whirled across the dance floor all night.

  fourteen

  2 October 1888

  Please, Tora. Won’t she see me?” he asked, once again at the door of the Storm Roadhouse. Tora was as eye-catching as she had been on the Herald eight years earlier, but Soren was determined never to let her know he thought as much.

  “No. And I hope she never will.”

  “It has been days.”

  “It’ll take years for her to get over what you did to her.” “I did not hurt her on purpose.”

  “Oh no?” she scoffed. “You thought that leaving her alone on a Dakota farm with a baby was helpful?” “I sent her money.”

  “Once.” Tora was like a bur under a horse’s saddle. “Strange.”

  “What?” she asked, suddenly wary at his tone.

  “That a former mistress of mine would deposit a child on my wife’s doorstep and then years later act as a soldier at her gate. Seems to me that you’ve done your share of hurting my wife.”

  “It’s true,” she said, her face falling. “I hurt her badly. But we’ve built our bridges—”

  “As I want to do,” he interrupted. “Is that fair? For you to be allowed to ask forgiveness and heal that rift, but not allow me to do so?”

  She said nothing.

  “I’m a changed man, Tora.”

  She laughed then in derision. “I doubt it.”

  “And you, Tora? How have you changed? I didn’t force you to my bed.”

  Tora shook her head slightly and then glanced over her shoulder. “You do not fight fair.”

  He raised his hands in surrender. “I do not want to fight. Truly. I’m a changed man. I just want to see my wife. If she’ll see me.”

  Tora looked him in the eye for a long moment, apparently contemplating his words, and Soren refused to look away. Without a word, she went into another room, but she left the door ajar. He assumed it meant that she was going to ask Kaatje if she wanted to see him. He suddenly wished he was a praying man, because it seemed an opportune moment for a talk with the heavenlies to get Kaatje to at least speak to him. A
little “inside” help, he thought wryly.

  When she returned to the doorstep, she gave him a look that reminded him of James Walker’s word of warning. Don’t hurt her, he’d said, or you’ll have me to deal with. How could little Kaatje have won such fiercely protective friends? There was much he had to learn about his wife.

  And suddenly she was there, a sliver of light illuminating her hazel eyes.

  “Please. Please, Kaatje. Won’t you come and sit with me? Here on the porch?”

  Kaatje still felt as if it were a dream. Or a nightmare. She couldn’t decide. Just when she had given up on her husband, here he was, asking her to come and sit with him on the porch. But all the love she thought she had for him was absent in her heart, surprising her. She couldn’t get over the fact that she felt nothing toward him except indifference…emptiness.

  Mutely she followed him out to the front porch where Tora had placed two sets of rocking chairs. The other set was empty.

  He gestured toward the near one for her, then quickly sat down on the other, twisting his hat in his hands. “What can I say to you to convince you to give me a chance?”

  She shrugged. What could he say? She didn’t want to hear his excuses. His lies. And yet there she sat, riveted. Just like old times. She disgusted herself.

  “What if…what if we start over?”

  “Start over?” Kaatje found her voice, each word becoming stronger. “How could we possibly start over?”

  Soren cleared his throat. “Perhaps we have to go back a bit. Let me explain—”

  “No. I don’t want to hear your explanations. There is no excuse for leaving your family for years without a word. Without a word!” Her anger surprised her. Maybe there was more in her heart than she thought.

  “I staked a claim, Kaatje,” he said, going to his knees before her, seemingly uncaring of who saw them. “I thought it would be our future. Instead it was just another dead end.” He looked saddened, beaten. “I wanted you with me. Every month, every year. I was determined to make something of myself, so I could return to you and make you proud.”

  “I was proud once, Soren. Those first months on our Dakota farm…that’s what I wanted from you. But it wasn’t enough. It was never enough.”