Northern Lights Trilogy

by Lisa Tawn Bergren

  “No doubt,” she answered clearly. But inside, her heart began to dread what was happening. But why? Wasn’t this going exactly as she wanted? Wasn’t justice about to be served?

  The judge turned toward Decker when he took the stand. “Mr. Decker, what defense have you?”

  Decker smirked and leered at Tora, then said smugly, “I ain’t never seen this woman before, or her fancy boyfriend until he shot me down when she and I were having ourselves a conversation, gettin’ to know each other one evening at the restaurant.”

  Tora gasped at his blatant lie. Decker’s eyes turned to her with a leer. Her gasp had given him a sense of control, and Tora dropped her eyes, refusing to give him the power.

  The judge went on questioning him. “How do you account for your bullet wounds?”

  “Her boyfriend was just jealous when he found her making eyes at me.”

  The judge sighed heavily, as if tired of his obvious lies. “Do you have anything else to add, Mr. Decker?” the judge prodded.

  Decker looked up as if in a stupor and said, “What more is there to say, Your Honor? If I ain’t done it, I ain’t done it.”

  “Well, by Miss Anders’s testimony and Mr. Storm’s testimony of Mr. Decker’s second attempt at kidnapping and aggravated assault, I have come to a decision.”

  Tora’s mouth was dry.

  “Frank Decker,” he said, staring at the prisoner. “You have erred for the last time. You will be hanged in the public square at noon tomorrow.” He pounded his gavel on the desk.

  But all Tora could think about was Decker’s name.

  Frank. It was such a plain, honest name.

  His mother had looked down at him as a child and caressed his cheek and called him Frank.

  The next day, Frank Decker was led to the gallows hastily constructed on the same platform that had been used for Kaatje’s celebration four days prior.

  Trent stood at Tora’s side, with an arm protectively around her. Kaatje was there too, the girls firmly told to stay at home with Charlie.

  The deputy and two volunteers led Decker up the stairs to the platform. A pastor in a clerical collar read some Scripture verses, and then the deputy asked Decker if he had any last words.

  He laughed under his breath and shook his head. For the first time, there was some hint of hesitation on his part, as if he dreaded what was to come.

  Tora held her breath as two men turned him toward the noose. One slipped it over his head while the other tied his hands behind his back. Someone offered him a hood, but he shook his head, his lips clenched together.

  NOW IS THE TIME. FORGIVE HIM. FOR YOU AS MUCH AS FOR HIM. HE IS PAYING THE PRICE, God spoke to Tora’s heart.

  Tora tried to say something, but quickly clamped her lips shut. He wronged me, she silently screamed. He hurt me!

  NOW IS THE TIME.

  But he wronged me, Lord. He killed a part of me. He robbed me of…me.

  HE KILLED THE PART THAT HELD YOU FROM ME. NOW IS THE TIME.

  But stubbornly she kept her lips clamped shut. She would not forgive him. She would not!

  Frank Decker searched the crowd, found her, and winked. He winked, of all things! Trent’s hand tightened on her shoulder, and she could feel him tense.

  Tora turned toward Trent then, burying her face in his chest, wanting to run away from the scene before her. She kept listening though, unable to turn and watch the platform floor open beneath Frank Decker, his body descending, the crowd ogling, the rope growing taut, or his neck breaking. But she heard it. Everyone heard it.

  Tora sat on the porch, rocking fast, refusing to speak to Trent, to anyone. Kaatje let her sit awhile alone, until the sun set and her breath fogged into small clouds in front of her face. Tora had to be cold, chilled to the bone by now. Quickly Kaatje poured two cups of tea and headed out. The restaurant had been closed for the day, the proprietors more interested in the day’s events than commerce.

  She thought it incongruent, somehow, that the sun could give such a brilliant display as it left the horizon. This day, of all days. It would have suited better to be socked in with clouds, the sun leaving their part of the world with a muted, understated good-bye.

  Kaatje sat down in the rocker opposite Tora and stretched out her arm with the other mug of tea. “Here,” she demanded, “take it.”

  She waited for a few seconds before Tora seemed to come out of her stupor and reached bluish fingers toward the mug. “Do you not think it’s time to come in, Tora?”

  “In a bit,” she mumbled.

  Kaatje took a sip of her own tea, wrapped her shawl more snugly around her shoulders, and then sat back to rock. After a moment she spoke, carefully choosing her words. “I expect that what happened today is very difficult for you.”

  “You know nothing of what I’m feeling,” Tora shot back, then said, “I’m sorry.”

  Kaatje let her words sit for a moment, continuing to rock. “Do you think you reached him at all? Do you think he might have believed?”

  Tora said nothing, staring through the dancing tendrils of steam that rose from the tea, toward the farrier’s place across the street or beyond. “I don’t know. I doubt it. He never gave me any indication that he had.”

  Kaatje rocked with her in companionable silence. “It’s a question that’s plagued me of late. I can’t decide if Soren has honestly changed and if I should give him a chance, or if I should send him packing.”

  “At least you still have the chance.”

  Kaatje looked down at her tea. So that was it—Tora was feeling guilty. “He committed crimes against you. He deserved his fate.”

  “And I wanted him dead,” she whispered, so low that Kaatje almost missed it as a team of horses pulling a wagon drove by.

  “Sometimes hate is hard to overcome. Why don’t you give yourself some time? He did some hateful things to you. You’re feeling the first vestiges of forgiveness—that’s hard stuff after hating someone for so long.”

  “Like Soren?”

  “Like Soren.”

  “Like you hated me?”

  Kaatje paused for a moment. “Yes, like you once.”

  “Kaatje,” Tora asked, looking her in the eye for the first time. “What would you do in my position? If God had called you to speak to him, to reach out to him, would you have done so?”

  “I expect so. But it would’ve been one of the hardest tasks I ever faced. Tora, there was no hope for Frank Decker to clear his name. He was to be hanged, regardless of what you said.” She reached out and grasped her hand.

  Tora nodded, but there were no tears. “It’s not that I thought I could stop the hanging. I only wonder now if I should’ve forgiven him before he…died. Maybe if I had found the courage to say it, say it out loud, he might have seen God for the first time.”

  “That would have been a tall order.”

  “It was. And I failed him. I failed God.” She sat silent, morose for a while before she said, “I think I’ll go in. Suddenly I’m very, very tired.”

  “All right. Tora?” “Yes?”

  “It won’t be the first time you’ve failed God. But we live with a God of grace. He’ll give you another chance.”

  She paused, not turning back, but she had obviously heard her. “See you in the morning, Kaatje.”

  “Tora, there’s one more thing.”

  “Yes?” she asked quietly. This time she looked at Kaatje. “I want you to think about something. Think about that day you came to my farm. Think about what it would’ve been like had I not offered you a chance at redemption, even if you had never come to me. At some point, it would have kept me from moving on. And then give yourself some time to do the same for Frank Decker. It’s too late for him. But not for you.”

  Tora stood for a moment, then left the porch without another word.

  Soren watched as Tora walked inside. He stepped forward and then back, unable to decide if it was a wise time to approach Kaatje. But her expression and stance seemed mellow, open somehow. H
e had been practicing his words all evening, ever since Frank Decker’s neck broke at the end of the rope.

  Decided now, he waited for a horseman to pass, then two girls, then he crossed the street. Kaatje still had not seen him, apparently lost in reverie. He stepped up on the deck. “Penny for your thoughts.”

  She looked at him in surprise, then away. “My thoughts cannot be purchased.”

  “Fair enough,” he said, taking off his hat. “May I sit?”

  “Go ahead,” she said dully.

  “Kaatje, I’ve been thinking. I was there today at the hanging.” She didn’t answer. “I saw that man up by those gallows, and I couldn’t help but see him as me, that rope as the death of our marriage.”

  Soren swallowed hard and knelt before her. He took her hands before she could pull them into a ball in her lap. “When he was hanged, the life gone from his body, all his opportunities were gone. That was the end of it. In the same way, I can’t get past the idea that if you don’t give me one more chance, our marriage will die too.”

  She looked up at him then, her hazel eyes staring into his soul. He fought to keep his eyes on hers, afraid that she might see the truth there, the truth that he didn’t deserve Kaatje Janssen as his wife. But his future depended upon them being together. Their future. “Kaatje, give me one more chance. Please. I know it’s the last time. I know it. One more try.”

  Kaatje stared into his eyes and then looked across the street. Suddenly she pulled her hands from his, and Soren fought the urge to swear. He could feel it; he was losing her. His eyes followed her gaze across the street.

  To James Walker.

  That was it. Soren had had enough. James was in his way. And he had to be removed.

  It was his only chance to get to Kaatje.

  That night he waited for James to follow him from the roadhouse back to his hotel. He was aware that James or his Indian sidekick followed every move he made. But tonight Soren had a surprise for him. He walked straight down the street, then disappeared through the swinging doors of the Hanging Moon Saloon. He waited for a minute, ignoring the bartender’s request for a drink order, then headed back out the doors.

  Just as he suspected, James was walking toward the saloon, as if checking on him.

  Soren headed straight for him, never wavering. “You want a fight? Let’s fight! You can watch me all you want, Walker. Watch me take back my wife and leave you in the dust.” With his last word, he shoved James away from him. “It’s eating you alive, isn’t it, Walker? Watching me with her, touching her.”

  Dimly, he was aware of passersby stopping to gawk.

  “Back off, Soren,” James warned, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand. “I don’t want to fight you.”

  “Don’t you? Don’t you? Everything in me says different. No, you don’t want to fight me, Walker. You want to remove me. But that’s not going to happen.”

  “I only care about Kaatje. You, I could never care about.” James watched Soren from the corners of his eyes.

  Soren could tell James wanted to hit him. What would it take to get him there?

  “No? What if I told you that Kaatje would be mine again soon? She’s my wife. Mine. I’m going to lose patience soon and just kiss her, take what’s mine. It’s my right. And I’m going to tell her I saw you out with a whore last night. That’ll end any feelings she has for you. What would you say to that?”

  Soren didn’t even see the punches coming. One went to his stomach, driving the breath from his gut, a second to his face, splitting his upper lip.

  If he hadn’t been fighting for breath, he would’ve laughed. Everything was working out perfectly. Just as he planned.

  James was confused. Soren looked as if he were laughing at him, even though he fought for breath. Oh, how good those punches had felt! He had longed to drive the breath from Soren’s greedy gut, do some damage to that perfect face. And now he had. What was that sudden, stabbing feeling of remorse? James couldn’t get past the idea that he had taken a drastically bad step, regardless of the primal, physical pleasure it brought him.

  “What? What?” he screamed, kicking dust at Soren’s shoulder. “What are you smiling about? What? I’ll wipe that smile from your face—” Suddenly Kadachan was there, pulling him away from Soren, telling him to calm down. He couldn’t make out the words; he understood his intent from his friend’s tone. Kadachan took him to the nearest porch, where he sat James down and retrieved his hat.

  He brought it back, brushing off the brim as he purposefully blocked James’s view of Soren. Last thing James saw, someone was helping the slime off the street. Next time Soren came into view, he was heading down toward Kaatje’s, throwing that same sinister grin back toward James.

  James groaned and leaned back on the porch, covering his face with his hands.

  “What is it?” Kadachan asked. “Are you hurt?”

  James was silent for a moment. Then, “Nothing I didn’t do to myself. That man has been begging me to slug him ever since he showed up.”

  “And?”

  “And so tonight I did. And I knew right away in my gut that something was amiss.”

  “What?”

  “Look where he’s going,” James said, unable to watch with his friend.

  “To Kaatje.”

  “Exactly. She’s been barely warding him off. The wounds I’ve inflicted tonight will drive her straight into his arms. There’s one thing she can’t resist, and that’s the bruised and broken. He’s got the broken act down, and now I’ve added the bruises.”

  seventeen

  Mid-October 1888

  The crew was wild in their excitement; for eight days running, the Majestic had beaten the huge Fair Alaska, and the crew had dined in her fine quarters every evening. Elsa strode across the deck, hands at her lower back, children following close behind. Today Karl was giving them a run for their money.

  “Think he’s been letting us have the lead this past week?” Riley asked.

  “I doubt it. It’s cost him a fortune in food, to say nothing of the damage to his male pride.”

  “They’re setting all sails!” cried the sailor in the crow’s nest, who had been watching the competition more than anything else.

  “Set all sails?” Eric asked, his eyes alight.

  Elsa frowned. The wind was stiff. Setting all sails was a dangerous proposition, but one that might well put them more firmly in the lead; if they did not match sail, it was certain that they would be serving the crew of the Fair Alaska this night. She glanced at Riley, and he gave her a small frown, a subtle shake of the head.

  “Set all sails,” she said firmly, keeping her eyes from Riley.

  “Set all sails!” Eric yelled. The crew scrambled across lanyards high above them, anxious to give their boilers a boost and win the day again.

  Elsa looked above at the streamer that showed the wind’s direction. “She’s coming from the southwest, Riley. In another fifty miles or so, she’ll switch to a northwester. It almost always proves true. If I were a gambling woman, I’d guess that there’s a fair chance Karl doesn’t know of the change. He hasn’t traveled much in these waters.”

  “And you distracted him from his charts last night,” Riley said, giving her a knowing look. “So we’ll let them pull ahead a bit near the changeover and prepare the Majestic for the drift.”

  “Yes. And we’ll catch the wind and swoop by them just in time for supper,” she said, clapping her hands together in excitement.

  “I still don’t think it’s wise, ma’am,” Riley said discreetly. “The wind’s stiff. We’re putting the ship and her crew in danger.”

  “We have the best, Riley,” she said. “If it gets rough, we’ll reef the royals and gallants.”

  He still looked unsure. The ship noticeably leaned with the wind just as the highest sails came down from their lanyards and into place.

  She rested one hand on his shoulder. “Be at peace, Riley. If need be, let the Fair Alaska win this night in order to ke
ep us safe. But give them a run!”

  His smile returned. “Aye, aye.”

  She leaned closer and whispered, “I’ll tell Cook to prepare for the worst, and if it doesn’t happen, we’ll have his fine meal for noon dinner tomorrow.”

  He nodded and looked upward, ordering a crew member here and there while letting Kristian take a turn at the wheel.

  “Eve!” Elsa called. “You come with me. You need to stay by my side in these seas, or in the cabin. I’ll not have you falling overboard. Come, come inside. We’ll get Mouser out.”

  That sent her running. Her pet cat was allowed out once in the morning to play with Eve and then stayed mostly belowdecks all afternoon to hunt for rats. Surprisingly, considering the sizable rats Mouser killed, he was very loving with Eve. Elsa, he could take or leave. And he openly despised Kristian; Elsa suspected her son had pulled his tail once too many times as a kitten.

  Since he was given to shredding her linens, Mouser lived in a fairly large crate, which Eve carefully lined with an old baby blanket. He gave them a meow combined with a yawn as they entered, and pounced on the ball of yarn that Eve wiggled in front of his now-open door.

  Elsa sat down to draw the child and pet. They both were in such high spirits that Elsa could do nothing else. She wanted to capture this moment forever. Someday she wanted to get one of those new Kodak Snapshots for moments such as these. Imagine! Having the chance to take a picture rather than to draw it!

  She opened her box of coal pencils and put a large canvas on her easel. Then, before the moment was over, she sketched the main portions of body stance and several details of expression. As had become her habit, she would create the rest from memory as cat and girl moved on to hunt for dust balls underneath her four-poster bed. Some details she would make up from sheer familiarity.

  By noon dinner, the Fair Alaska was leading by half a league or more. The crew, dog-tired already from their busy morning of reefing and unfurling sails, dragged into the dining hall and wolfed down all the food Cook and his three assistants put before them.

  “Look at ’em, Cap’n,” Riley said to her in an aside. “We’ll never get ahead of Cap’n Martensen now.”