Northern Lights Trilogy

by Lisa Tawn Bergren

  “I know. I know, elskling. Every month it became harder to write to you, harder to let you know where I was, what I was doing. I was wasting my life; I didn’t want to waste yours.”

  “What did you think I was doing? How did you think I would survive? Alone? With our child? Your children?”

  He shook his head in misery. “I know. I know!” He licked his lips. “I thought the Bergensers would look after you.”

  She sighed and pursed her lips in disgust. “Get up. Get up, Soren, and sit. People are watching.”

  He glanced toward the street and then did as she bid. She knew he saw her comment as giving him an opening, a chance.

  “I know it’s been so hard on you, kitten. If I’d known…”

  “If you’d known? How could you have possibly assumed we would be all right?”

  “I was a fool.”

  “You were,” she agreed.

  He paused, then forged onward. “With each passing month, my future looked more grim. How could I have brought you to that? Somehow I became convinced that you would have divorced me, married another.”

  “How could you think that? I have never believed in divorce.” “You had a good reason. I had abandoned you. You thought I was dead.”

  She was silent. Had she not been ready to do just that? “Why not just return home? To see?”

  “With my tail tucked between my legs?”

  “Yes. Exactly. You were too proud, as usual, to come back. Weren’t you? Or was it your Indian lover that held you back?”

  His eyes flew upward to meet hers. “How do you know about the woman?”

  She shook her head. Nothing changed. Nothing ever changed with Soren. He would confess because he was caught, not because he wanted to change. She rose. “I’m going in now.”

  He stopped her with a hand to her arm. “Wait.”

  “No.” She shook it off, suddenly remembering being a newly married girl in Bergen, catching him with a milkmaid. Why, Lord? Why? Why put me through this misery?

  “I’ve changed, Kaatje. The girl, the Indian girl—she was being hurt by her people. Abused.”

  “Abused? That is not their way. Why would she have been abused?”

  “She was beautiful and betrothed to one man. Another caught her eye. When she refused the man she was betrothed to, he claimed she went to him one night to seduce him. She was an outcast.”

  Kaatje laughed, a mirthless sound. “And she came straight to you.”

  “No. It wasn’t like that.”

  “It wasn’t? No, it wasn’t. I know more, Soren. You not only were with one Indian girl, you were with two.”

  “No! That is not true! Who told you that?” Her look must have told him. “Him? Walker? Why, the man’s in love with you! He’d say anything to win you from me. Please. Please. Kaatje, we have more than ourselves to consider.”

  “What?”

  “Our children. For the girls. Will you not at least give me a chance?”

  His words sliced her. Only the girls could make her feel vulnerable again. “Where is the woman?” she asked through clenched teeth, not looking back at him.

  “Away. At Saint Michael. There’s a Catholic priest there. Russian Orthodox. He finds such women work, shelter, food. He’ll take care of her.” He moved back in front of Kaatje. “There is nothing between her and me. Nothing. Please. Please, Kaatje. Give me a chance.”

  James followed Soren every day, watched through bleary eyes at night to make sure he wasn’t sneaking out. As far as he could tell, Soren was living the life of an upstanding man. He rose at seven, ordered a bath from the hotel manager—at least Kaatje had not let him stay at the roadhouse—and then took his breakfast at a restaurant down the street. He had taken a job at the mercantile the day before, loading supplies into wagons at the back, and bringing new shipments in. It appeared that he meant to support himself and was prepared to wait however long it took for Kaatje to welcome him back.

  But was that all it was? Appearances?

  James’s gut told him it was so.

  It wasn’t a coincidence that Soren Janssen showed up in town the week before Kaatje was to declare him dead. He was up to something. Down and dead on his luck, James assumed, no doubt Soren had heard of the woman who looked for him on the river and had learned of her means in Juneau. Kaatje had made something of herself in the new territory, was suddenly the wife Soren had wanted all along. Maybe he had finally given up on finding the mother lode himself and had decided to ride on his wife’s coattails.

  If only he would go to the saloon! Pick up a woman! Buy a pint of brandy! That would prove to everyone what James could feel in his bones about the man. Instead, this morning Soren had even gone to church, quietly sitting five pews behind Kaatje and Tora and Trent, never attempting to talk to her. But James was sure that he had made a point of pausing outside, making his presence known. Was it all an act? Or had the louse actually changed?

  James groaned and slid to the ground outside the hotel’s wall. What was he doing? If Kaatje was going to give him a chance, it was up to her. He rubbed his face, suddenly conscious of how wearing the last days had been. As he sat there, he noticed a bulge in his coat pocket. He reached inside and grasped the bundle and pulled it out. There, inside a handkerchief, was the gold nugget that Kaatje had found outside Soren’s abandoned claim.

  He smiled a little bit, examining the glint of it in the dim, overcast light. It didn’t look like fool’s gold today. Maybe he should have it examined. He smiled. Pleased to have a new mission, he set out for the alchemist’s shop. In minutes he would know. And if it was truly gold, he planned to have the last laugh on Soren Janssen.

  He rose and hurried down the street. Inside a small man sat hunched over his work with his back to James. The shop was dark, with only one kerosene lamp lit over the books the alchemist kept. “May I help you?” he asked over his shoulder, not looking back.

  “I’d like you to inspect this nugget. Tell me if it’s real or fool’s.”

  The man turned around, and James saw that he was in his latter sixties, with silver hair that covered his face as well as emerged from his nostrils and ears. He wore half-glasses low on his nose and clothes that were old but clean. He reached out for the nugget, his face expressionless. In Alaska, he probably had ten men a day asking the same thing of him.

  But he paused as he looked over the nugget, about the same size as the tip of his index finger. He pursed his lips in concentration and reached for a bottle of liquid behind him. Then he pulled a leather glove on his hand and put the nugget into a glass dish. He allowed some of the liquid to fall to the surface. It spattered and sizzled but made no dent.

  The man looked over his half-glasses at James.

  “That, my man, is pure gold.”

  James laughed. Couldn’t stop himself from laughing. Could it be? Could Soren have stumbled upon a claim that was worth something and abandoned it before it was fully explored? He had heard stories of miners working for years on mines, mere inches from a gold streak as big as a man’s thigh.

  The alchemist was staring at him. “That’ll be two bits for my trouble.”

  “Sure. Sure!” James pulled out a coin and slapped it on the wooden counter.

  “Want to sell that gold?” “Not yet.”

  “That claim registered?”

  “You bet,” James said. It would be. By day’s end. And if Soren was as foolish about letting the claim go as he was about his wife, he would lose two treasures by his own stupidity.

  James was whistling as he left the land office, shaking his head at Soren’s ineptitude. He had let his claim lapse, and James had signed Kaatje’s name to the deed. If he was right, and there was more gold on that claim, Soren’s wife would be richer than Soren ever dreamed. But before he found out, James had to ascertain what Soren had up his sleeve. James wouldn’t let him use Kaatje as he had in the past, only to be discarded again. He was as crafty as a traveling gambler; James was sure of it.

  He was ret
urning to his hotel, bent on the idea of a bath and a big meal, when he caught sight of Soren, crossing the street to the restaurant, presumably for supper. He looked James’s way as he crossed the muddy avenue and paused to wait for him. James bristled. Why would Soren wait for him? What would he have to say?

  As James drew near, Soren said, “Saw Kaatje today.”

  “Oh?” he returned, feigning indifference.

  “Yes.” He leaned closer. “That thought must eat you alive.”

  James seethed inside, squelching the desire to shove Soren to the ground, smash his face in the mud. But he was careful to keep his expression composed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Janssen.”

  “I know it’s hard to give up a woman like Kaatje, Walker. But face it. She’s mine. Or she will be mine again shortly. It’s already begun.”

  James stared him in the eye until Soren walked away, whistling.

  What was he after? It had to be more than Kaatje. She had never been enough to keep him home before. Just what was Soren Janssen after?

  fifteen

  The sudden rapping at Elsa’s cabin door startled her. The steady beat of Washington’s rain, her children’s rhythmic nap breathing, and the dim, warm light of her cabin had lulled her as she painted a new canvas with muted colors to match the day’s mood. She quickly stood, almost upsetting her chair, and went to the door. Odd, the knock. Her men always knocked twice, then announced who awaited her.

  She twisted the brass knob and pulled the swollen door from its jamb.

  “Karl!”

  “Oh, hello,” he said, stifling a smile. “I’m here to call upon Master Kristian and Miss Eve. Are they at home?”

  She smiled and gestured inward, closing the door behind Karl and shutting out the curious looks of her crew. “I will go and awaken them. They’re just in the next room.”

  “They’re asleep? I’m sorry. I can come back later—”

  “Nonsense. They’ve slept for two hours or more. If I don’t awaken them now, they’ll complain later that they missed Uncle Karl and will never go to sleep again!”

  “Does Kristian even remember his uncle?” he whispered.

  Elsa stifled a shiver as his warm breath tickled her neck. She stepped away. “Very little, I’m afraid. It’s been so long, Karl.” She hoped her eyes told him that she had missed him as much as her son had. Suddenly embarrassed at being so forthright, she turned. “Have a seat. I’ll just be a minute.”

  Elsa hurried from the room, wondering if Karl was watching her walk away. She sighed, wishing she had worn her gold waistcoat, rather than the drab day dress. She walked to Kristian’s narrow bunk bed. Eve slept beneath him. “Kristian, wake up. I have a surprise for you.”

  “A surprise?” he asked, sounding so clear she decided he must have been well ready to awaken.

  “Yes. Let us wake Eve, and then I’ll show you.

  “Eve,” she said lowly, squatting to look at the tiny girl on the lower bunk. Her daughter wasn’t as ready as her son to rise. “Eve, sweetheart. I have a surprise for you. It’s time to get up. You can go to bed early tonight if you wish.” When the girl didn’t move, Elsa suppressed her irritation. She was so eager to get back to Karl! To see him again, talk to him again!

  “Come on, darling.” Kristian hopped noisily to the plank flooring beside Elsa. “Kristian, I’ve told you a thousand times to climb down the ladder, not jump. You’ll go right through to the crew’s quarters next time.” Was that a muffled laugh she heard from the next room? Quickly Karl coughed to cover it up. Elsa smiled. She probably reminded him of his own mother’s reprimands years ago. Karl and Peder had been wild—active and playful. Much like Kristian.

  She helped Kristian get his arm through one hole of his shirt and then pulled Eve’s lilac day dress over her slip. Then she combed both heads of hair.

  “Now, Mama? Now?” Kristian begged, hopping up and down.

  “Now,” she said with a grin. His enthusiasm was contagious. Not that she needed any assistance in that matter. “Look who’s here to see you!”

  They both crowded around her to see Karl, and then Eve went back behind her legs when she discovered she did not know her visitor.

  “Hello,” Karl said, his cello voice at once soothing and welcoming.

  “Hello, sir. I’m Kristian Ramstad,” her son said formally, sticking out his small hand.

  Karl rose, bowed, and shook his hand. “It’s a pleasure, Kristian. I’m Karl Martensen.”

  “Uncle Karl?” Kristian asked in surprise.

  “Why, yes,” Karl chuckled. “You can call me that.”

  “Uncle Karl!” he said in glee, encircling his waist with an exuberant hug.

  Karl laughed, but his eyes were on Eve, peeking out from behind Elsa’s skirts. “And you must be Eve,” he said. Eve smiled shyly.

  He pulled out a wooden box and forlornly stared at its inlaid lid. “What is it? What is it?” Kristian cried, his shyness suddenly forgotten.

  “Why, I don’t quite remember. Why don’t you open it, Eve?” He gestured toward the box, and Eve slowly opened it. Music immediately began playing, and her tiny face lit up. She shrieked with joy when she saw the ballerina, dancing atop the highest platform—made of a child’s block with the letter D, presumably for dancer—a monkey scratching his head on a lower one with the letter M, and a man riding a bicycle on the other one painted with a B. She laughed with delight.

  “What’d you get for me?” Kristian asked.

  “Kristian!”

  “That’s all right, Elsa. Now let me see… Did I bring something for Kristian?” he asked rhetorically, looking puzzled. He absently patted all his pockets and looked around the room as if he had lost it, then found another box at his feet. It was larger than Eve’s. Kristian greedily took it from him. Elsa smiled her apologies, but Karl seemed unperturbed.

  Kristian ripped the brown paper from the surface and whooped his pleasure at the sight of his favorite Oriental game. “A mah-jongg! He got me a mah-jongg! Thank you, Uncle Karl!”

  “You’re welcome, Kristian. Do you know how to play?” “I do! Jeremy Bergerson taught me when his dad’s ship was moored in the same harbor as ours.”

  “Ahh. Which harbor was that?” “Renoit Bay.”

  “Very good. Well perhaps you can get it set up while I take your mother for a stroll around the deck. It sounds as if the rain has stopped.”

  “Better yet,” Elsa said, thinking of all the curious stares they would get from her crew, “why don’t you show me your ship? I’ve been anxious to see it.”

  “Certainly. But I was hoping you would come aboard for supper. And the children, too, of course.”

  “That sounds lovely. Where are you moored?”

  “Just three piers north.” They were in Seattle’s busy harbor, about ready to set sail again. The central mast had been repaired at the lumberyard; the new boiler worked perfectly.

  “When do you plan to leave for Alaska?”

  Her question seemed to surprise him. “Why, just as soon as you do.”

  “Oh yes.” He was there just to see them! Even though she knew they had planned to meet in Washington, the idea of it all thrilled her. For once, business was not pulling them apart to separate seas, but rather bringing them together. And they could remain together for a while!

  “You had mentioned a race to Juneau…” he led. “I was only joking—”

  “No, I like it. What if we do this,” he said, rising. “Tonight we dine on my ship. When we leave, we will race northward for the day. Whoever is in the lead at five o’clock will reef their sails and await the loser; then the loser shall feed the winner’s entire crew.”

  “Their entire crew!”

  “Their entire crew.”

  Kristian clapped in excitement. “Oh yes, Mama! A race! Every day! We’ll be at Auntie Tora’s in no time at all!”

  Elsa laughed and shook her head. “That’ll be a lot of food you’ll have to shell out for my crew, Karl,” she
warned playfully. “But you’ll only use two of your boilers, not all three, to make it a fair race.”

  “Three?” He raised his eyebrows and then lowered them in mock confusion. “Whoever told you I had three?”

  Elsa smugly crossed her arms. “I am yet the owner of Ramstad Yard. Kristoffer informed me of his task as builder of Karl Martensen’s latest design, as he has on every ship that comes out of Camden-by-the-Sea.”

  Karl grinned and stared into her eyes. “Two boilers. But all masts.” “Fair enough. Your ship is heavier and will lag behind our

  Majestic.”

  “So you think. I take it we have a wager?” “A wager indeed.”

  Elsa fussed with her hair and combs for a long while before supper, wanting to get the gentle wave just right. When it fell yet again, she groaned and stared at herself in the mirror. “What are you doing, Elsa Ramstad?” The thought of leaving the Majestic for Karl’s Fair Alaska made her hands perspire and her mouth dry.

  She had to admit that her reaction to Karl was more than that of a dear friend. He was the equal she was beginning to wonder if she would ever find, a potential suitor that, as a friend, could be a perfect match. But could they ever get past their troubled history? To Elsa, it seemed like a dim memory now, but it was still present. Not because it bothered her any longer; he had long since proven himself to her as a good friend above all else. He had always been a gentleman, his resolve to never hurt her again showing in his every action. But it also seemed a barrier of sorts that kept him from her. Would his intentions to remain pure keep them apart forever? What if…what if Karl was the one she was meant to love?

  “All buttoned up?” Mrs. Hodge asked, ducking her head into Elsa’s room. Elsa was glad to have her back aboard the Majestic to care for the children. “My, don’t you look lovely!” She came all the way in, followed by Kristian and Eve.

  “Can’t we go with you tonight, Mama?” Kristian asked with a begging tone. “I heard Uncle Karl invite us, too. Please.”

  “Now, now,” Mrs. Hodge said. “We’ve been all through this. Your mother has obviously let you stay up until all hours, and it’s time to get back into a suitable routine. To bed by eight, up at sunrise. If you’re living aboard ship, you ought to live as the sailors do. Besides, I’ve gone and made my finest pumpkin pie. If you’re good, I’ll even whip some cream.”