Northern Lights Trilogy

by Lisa Tawn Bergren

  James strode across the street and around the Storm Roadhouse. He knew that Kaatje and the girls resided on the far side of the hotel; he hoped his chopping would not awaken them. He envisioned Kaatje arising to find a cord of freshly cut wood in the back, and it gave him even more energy.

  He was halfway through his fourth log, however, when the back door swung open, bathing him in warm light. He panted in his exertion, small clouds of steam arising before his face. Without speaking, he turned back to the log and with a loud thwack split it in two.

  “Easing your stomach of a heavy Thanksgiving dinner?” Kaatje asked gently.

  “Of sorts,” James evaded, sending the half-log into a neat quarter. “Are you going to chop wood all night?” “I hope not.”

  “You didn’t eat much dinner, did you, James?”

  He rammed the axe down into the stump and rested his hands on the handle. “Not much.”

  “Come in, James. Quit before you wake the neighbors.”

  Obediently he followed her indoors. Truth be told, he wanted to be nowhere else.

  “Sit,” she said, waving toward a chair. She was in a breakfast coat, from which descended a smooth nightdress of deep red. He averted his eyes, staring at the table while she put a plate before him and on it stacked sliced turkey, dressing, yams, a slice of bread, and then corn. She sat down across from him as he ate. “You don’t have friends who invited you over, do you, James?”

  “No.”

  “Why did you lie to me?” Her tone told him she knew the answer. He shrugged a little and chewed his food as he studied her. “You had made your decision. I wanted to make it easier for you.” “Where do we go from here, James?”

  He thought her question over, looking around the table. His eyes rested on a gift box, in which a generous length of blue-green velvet lay. “From him?” he asked, trying to keep the note of accusation from his tone.

  Her eyes told him yes.

  “I would say that it is not up to me to decide where we go from here, Kaatje.” He set down his fork, no longer hungry. His stomach was in knots. “I do not trust the man, Kaatje. I want to go away, leave you two to your business, but there’s something amiss.” He leaned back in his chair and blew air out of an o through his lips while he ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe it comes from looking out for you for months on the river, but I can’t stand to leave you alone with him. I’d as soon walk away from you now as when that mother bear came tearing toward you.”

  Kaatje looked away, biting a fingernail. When she looked back at him, her eyes were sad. “You can’t protect me from every bear out there, James.”

  “I can sure as well try. If you’ll let me.”

  “I think you had better go, James. If I come to some conclusion, I’ll let you know. For now, know that I’m as confused as you.”

  He agreed in silence, heading back toward his hotel without looking back. One more glance at Kaatje and he was liable to break down in front of her like a newborn baby. What was wrong with him? Clenching his lips in consternation, he decided that the following morning he would find six men to go and work Kaatje’s mine on the Yukon. And if God was with them, they would strike gold. News of a gold strike from a mine that was once his was bound to flush Soren Janssen out, much like smoke in a fox’s hole. Yes, like smoke in a fox’s hole.

  James smiled for the first time in weeks.

  Kaatje sat on the edge of her bed, staring out the window. Her tears matched the softly falling flakes outside, slowly, gently descending. Her throat closed around a soft sob, and she threw herself into the down pillow, not wanting anyone to hear her cry.

  How confused was her heart! One moment she had almost decided to give Soren a chance, a real chance, the next it skittered back to James. How she longed to enter James’s arms to claim him as her own! To send Soren, and the accompanying confusion, away. To know James’s steady ways, his slow smile, his tender look, again on a daily basis. Oh, how she missed him!

  And yet she couldn’t. Soren was her first love, her husband, and he was trying. With each day, her trust grew, little by little.

  Still, it did not ease her pain at watching James leave her side, step by step. When would he simply give up and go away? And what right did she have to hold him?

  section three

  Daybreak

  twenty

  Elsa did not know when they had started to assume that Karl would dine with her every night. It had all started on board their ships, in the race to Juneau, and had simply never stopped. It was comforting, much like the snow that began on Thanksgiving Day and continued on, getting deeper and deeper, just as their love deepened. The drifts had grown to five feet high beside the restaurant by December.

  Every morning she awakened to the sound of Soren shoveling the front porch and walk. It was thoughtful of him; she had to give him that. As she languished in bed, her thoughts went from Karl the night before, laughing at something Kristian said, and then whipped back to Soren. With each skid and slide of the shovel, Elsa winced. It was as if he was shoveling his way back into Kaatje’s heart. Yesterday she had come downstairs to see Kaatje give her husband a steaming cup of coffee before he left for the mercantile. She even allowed him to kiss her on the cheek. Since when was Kaatje allowing him to kiss her? It sent a shiver down Elsa’s back.

  Never mind that she had let Karl kiss her on the lips as often as he asked. Karl had never betrayed her. She was thinking of Soren. Soren, who had disappeared for years, who had cheated on a wonderful wife, had a child with a lover.

  She sighed. It was not her place to judge. And she could see that Kaatje was taking it slow. She just hoped that Trent’s detective would get proof once and for all that Soren was either the snake in the grass she feared or a changed man. “Help me to keep an open mind, Lord,” she whispered as she scooted out of bed and her warm toes met frigid wood floor. She quickly pulled on her housedress and breakfast coat, trembling as she did.

  It was cold, bone-chilling cold, in Alaska. Suddenly she longed to be aboard the Majestic, sailing to Hawaii like Trent and Tora. Warm sands, warm waters, green tropical forests… She clamped her lips shut. All in all, it was better to be here. She knew the children needed some time off the ship, though their life in a snowbound home was much like life on a ship. It gave Kristian a chance to attend school, the teaching task something Elsa dreaded. It would be fun to watch her child learn his letters and numbers, but she doubted she would enjoy enforcing study habits. And Eve loved being with Kaatje’s girls. Christina was like a mother hen, watching out for the child, telling on her when she wasn’t behaving, teaching her the art of doll care, taking tea, and other ladylike pursuits.

  Many in her crew had elected to stay in Alaska and try their hand at mining. Rumors of gold had long since caught their fancy. By spring they would be good and ready for the sea again, Elsa expected. Riley had shipped out with the remaining crew and other new members, picked from miners who already had gold fever beaten out of them. He would return in April for her, providing Elsa was ready to leave.

  Elsa walked to the window and pulled aside the curtains. She liked Juneau, its vibrant pace and growth in the midst of winter. It was a healthy city, destined for great things. Elsa could sense it. Gold strikes all around continued to feed the growth, though few of them were long-lived. Everyone was seeking the next California of 1849. There were also thriving timber and sealing industries, as well as the commerce that followed them.

  It was a cold place to winter, but a good place. The thought of Karl Martensen warmed her. The windowpane fogged up as she leaned her forehead against the glass. The street below blurred as she thought of him, dressed in his favorite Irish blue wool sweater and gray-gold pants. He was a striking man, and her attraction to him so overwhelmed Elsa that she wondered how she could never have seen it before. Because I was in love with Peder. Dear Peder, her beloved husband. No one could ever take his place. But her love for Karl felt so new and vital that it pushed her love for Peder back in
to the dim shadows of her heart and mind. It was as if she had opened heavy dark curtains and let in the light. She blinked and everything came into focus.

  While Elsa had long since packed away her mourning black, there were still vestiges of her heart that belonged to Peder, clashing with the other parts that were increasingly drawn to Karl. Perhaps it would always be this way. When one woman loved two men, perhaps she would always feel a little split. She hoped it would ease as time went on. Already she felt more comfortable with Karl, more ready to enter his arms when he embraced her, eager to lift her lips to his without the image of Peder lingering in her mind.

  A quick rapping at her door startled her. “Yes?” she called, walking toward it.

  Five children stumbled inward. “Auntie Elsa!” Jessica said. “Look!”

  “Look! Look!” cried the others. Eve was jumping up and down. Between them they carried a bulky wooden crate with her name neatly printed on the outside label: CAPTAIN ELSA RAMSTAD, c/o JUNEAU HARBOR MASTER, ALASKA, NORTH AMERICA.

  She had long since made the acquaintance of Harvey Shalinger, Juneau’s harbor master and town barber. The box looked much like the seven other crates that had arrived for her with identical labels. She smiled at the children. “Shall we see what it is?”

  “Yes! Yes!” they cried.

  “I will need a crowbar.”

  “Let’s go downstairs!” Charles said. “I think there is one in the kitchen.”

  They tumbled out of her room, pausing at the stairs to watch her come after them, then cascaded down to the restaurant, lugging the bulky crate between them. Elsa was careful not to look outside, through the restaurant windows. She didn’t want any potential glimpse of Kaatje and Soren to sour her mood.

  “Who could have sent it, Auntie Elsa?” Jess asked.

  “I wish I knew.”

  “Whoever sent the others probably sent this one,” Kristian said in his best grown-up voice. “Look at the label.”

  “I agree.” She pried the top of the crate upward.

  The children practically pushed her aside as they pulled straw away from all sides of the box, digging for the buried treasure. She laughed under her breath. “What is it?”

  “There! There!” Kristian cried.

  “Careful,” Elsa warned. “It might be fragile.”

  “It’s a stereoscope! A stereoscope!” Kristian shrieked, his voice rising an octave. “Jimmy Lansing has one at his house!”

  “A stereoscope,” Elsa said, excited herself. The one-and-a-half-foot box had become a parlor room standard, featuring an eyepiece at the top, and a turning knob at the side that would rotate the two-dimensional images. “Are there any pictures?”

  The children dived back into the crate, and each came back up with a box of photographs. “Here! Here!” they cried, all pushing them at her at once.

  “Just a moment,” she said, leading the way to the kitchen sideboard. She carefully set the stereoscope down and found the latch to open the top. “Hand me your boxes, children.” She pulled up a chair and looked at each one. “Let’s see. Let’s start with Asia, then go to North America, South America, Europe, and Africa.”

  It was fairly simple to attach each group of photographs onto the rounders, placed two to a sheet so the viewer’s eyes gained greater scope. The children had resumed their hopping they were so eager, but Elsa waved them off. “It is my present. I will look first. Then you shall each have a minute to look yourselves, in order of age.” “Ah-uh-ah,” Eve whined.

  Elsa stood and leaned over the stereoscope, staring at images she had once seen herself in India, Burma, and China. She grinned as she spun through the pictures, wanting a quick overview before the children attempted mutiny. Seeing the sights was like taking a trip around the world. Whoever had sent the present knew her well. How perfect it was to get something like this in the dead of winter! It chased any sense of melancholy and longing for the sea away.

  She sat back, and Charles climbed atop a chair to take his turn. Elsa laughed aloud as a thought struck her. She had become like her column readers, traveling vicariously by gazing at the pictures! After all her years on the sea, writing about and illustrating her exploits, she was at home in a warm kitchen, pouring herself a cup of coffee and musing about places far and wide, seen and unseen. It seemed contrary, this road on which God had taken her. Every time she figured out her role and place, it was apt to change. Perhaps it would be so all her life.

  Tora leaned her head to one side as Trent took her in his arms and nuzzled her neck. They were staying in a villa he had purchased on Hawaii, a sprawling house with open windows and huge verandahs. There was a white sand beach just steps away that they could walk along for hours, splashing in the water. On the other side of the house was a freshwater waterfall that cascaded several feet in a long, smooth sheet to a lush pool below. The previous owner had diverted some of the water toward the house, so the staff had easy access for cooking and cleaning. It was idyllic, and Tora couldn’t imagine ever wanting to depart.

  “What do you want for Christmas, my love?” Trent murmured, between kisses along her neck.

  Smiling because it tickled, she pushed him away with the back of her head. He remained behind her, his arms about her waist. She felt safe, protected, loved. “A baby,” she said, dreamlike.

  Trent laughed, his chuckle coming from deep within his chest. “I’d like that too.” He turned her toward him, and his expression sobered. “It will happen in time.” He lifted her chin and kissed her on the nose. “And then you’ll be complaining about how much work the baby takes.”

  She wrapped her arms around him and rested her head on his chest, feeling comforted by the steady beat of his heart. “Sometimes,” she almost whispered, “I’m afraid that I will never have another child.”

  “It’s only been two months since we married, Tora.”

  “No, sometimes I wonder if I’ll never have another child because I cannot.”

  “What?” Trent asked, pulling away to look at her. There was no accusation in his voice, just concern.

  Tora could not bear to look at him, so she gazed instead out to the cresting rollers grumbling to shore with wet rumbles. “Sometimes, I wonder if Jessica is the only child I’ll ever have.”

  “Why?”

  “Because maybe the Lord is punishing me for…my transgressions.”

  Trent wordlessly enveloped her in his arms again, resting his cheek on her forehead for several unbearable moments. “Say something, Trent.”

  He paused, then said, “Tora, we’ve all transgressed in one form or another. You’ve confessed your sin and followed the Lord’s lead for years now.” He lifted her chin and waited until she looked him in the eye. “If you don’t have another baby, you don’t. We can adopt a child or explore life as a couple only and be glad of finding each other. But you must do something—you must forgive yourself. It is not God that is punishing you, Tora; it is you. Let go of your sin as God has. Let go of it.” He kissed her then, on the forehead, and quietly paddedm inside, leaving her to study the azure sky and contemplate the idea of forgiveness. Of forgiving herself. Of forgiving Frank Decker.

  She shivered at the thought of him and again looked out to the sea. Somewhere in the tropical forest around them, an exotic bird let out a call she had never heard before. How could she forgive Frank Decker? She had tried before, but the same horrifying images came to her mind, keeping her from finding true peace. The bird called again, and Tora looked toward the sound. Perhaps it was like the bird, she thought, perhaps she should listen for a different call than she had ever heard before.

  He was my child once.

  She sighed and closed her eyes. That was it. That was the key. To look upon Frank Decker as her heavenly Father looked upon him. With pleasure once and sadness at seeing what he had become. When she thought about how God probably wept over Frank Decker, it made her tear up too. A good and right creation gone wrong. What had happened to him to make him so evil? So cruel? So angry?
<
br />   The empathy pulled away all her own anger and fear. All her desire for retribution, leaving only sorrow. And in that sorrow, Tora at last found a way to forgive Frank Decker. “I forgive you, Frank Decker,” she said. “You did terrible things to me, but in the name of my Lord Jesus Christ, I forgive you. I am sorry I could not tell that to you in person.”

  She looked up into the sky, watching as the golden-edged clouds grew to a deep pink, then purple and gray. “Is it the same for me, Lord, in order to forgive myself? It’s still hard for me. I feel as if I have to constantly work to repay Kaatje, to repay you for the things I did. As if I’ll never be able to do enough to be worthy of forgiveness.”

  She bowed her head and waited, but God did not reassure her with his still, small voice. He did not give her another word that made her understand this, too. She knew the answer already—her sins had been forgiven, her transgressions paid for by the blood of Christ. “I know, Lord,” she whispered, “I know. I have to keep reminding myself that no one else has to do it. By your grace, I am free.” Her eyes swam with tears. “By your grace. I’m trying to remember, Lord. I’m trying.”

  It was time to forgive Soren and give him a chance to be her husband once again. Besides that, Kaatje thought, she could not bear the physical tension between them any longer. If he did not hold her, kiss her, kiss her as a husband ought to kiss his wife, then she was liable to scream. She relished the feel of her hand in his as they walked toward the door, content after a cozy supper for two in the corner of the restaurant, discontent at the thought of separation. Half of her longed to ask him home, to tell him she was giving him another chance; the other half screamed to run away, to pull her hand from his. He was so handsome, with his sparkling eyes that smoldered as they studied her.