Northern Lights Trilogy

by Lisa Tawn Bergren

  “That is not needed, but appreciated. What is needed is that you care for the lost, my son, and that woman sounds as if she is in need of help. Go with God.”

  “Thank you, Father.” He departed and went back to the hotel. A finicky man, Joseph had few soiled shirts, but after a few minutes’ search, he found one that was reasonably dirty. He bent and rubbed it along the face of his boot sole. Then he left again for the washerwoman’s place of business.

  In five minutes, he was there. All around were shirts drying on lines. Four Indian women peeked at him from amongst them as they stood beside wooden tubs, scrubbing against washboards. “I have a shirt to be laundered,” he stated, still looking at the women. None of the four were what he would call striking. They stared at him through slitted eyes in wide, bland faces. A movement to his right caught his eye, and he realized there was yet another approaching him.

  She was beautiful, worthy of her royal heritage, if she was indeed the woman he sought. Somewhere, some father was ready to kill Soren Janssen for stealing her away. “Shirt?” she asked. She quickly met his eyes and then looked away. Joseph knew then that he would never forget those obsidian orbs—they were filled with sorrow.

  “Here. You see? It is soiled.”

  She took it from him, and he noticed long, slender fingers with broad nails. He could tell that she wondered how a shirt could get dirt like that on it, and yet she said nothing.

  “Does the name Soren Janssen mean anything to you?” Her quick glance cut him off. She knew Soren, all right. “Listen, I need some information. Some help. Can you take a short break?”

  She shook her head. “No. I cannot leave my work. They will not pay me.”

  “You can bet a pig’s nickel on a butcher’s table I won’t pay her.” A big man emerged from a back room, apparently drawn by the lull in the washerwomen’s chatter. Instantly all four women began scrubbing again. He neared the counter and snapped at the woman attending Joseph, “Get back to work! Or you can leave and never come back!”

  “I beg your pardon,” Joseph began. “There’s been a misunderstanding. It was I who detained—”

  “You here to get your shirt washed?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “We have your shirt?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Your name?”

  “I’m Joseph Campbell,” he said loudly. “I’m staying at the Hawk’s Eye Inn.”

  “Very well, Joseph Campbell of the Hawk’s Eye Inn,” the man said with a smirk. “Your shirt will be ready tomorrow noon.” His eyes narrowed, and he leaned over the counter. “These girls are not for sale. But you can find your whore over on the next block. At least that’s what they tell me.”

  Joseph stepped away, feeling defiled. There was no use explaining the situation to an idiot like that. He would wait and simply hope that the woman came to him with the information he sought. He walked outside and took a deep breath of the frigid air. “Alaska, Land of Opportunity,” he muttered under his breath. “Even the worst can make a living here.”

  He was eating supper, just finishing a half-decent meal of roast beef and potatoes, when he caught a glimpse of her outside the window. She was looking in, as if searching for him. In a rough-and-tumble town like this, he decided he had better hurry. A beautiful woman like that wouldn’t be alone for long.

  Joseph wiped his mouth with the cloth napkin and quickly laid it and a coin beside the tin plate. After a quick swig of coffee, he rushed outside. “Come, come in,” he invited. “Let us go to the hearth where you can get warm.”

  “No,” she said, her eyes conveying real fear. He guessed that more than Soren Janssen had abused her. It had taken courage for her to come to him.

  “Fine. Where shall we go? I want you to feel comfortable.”

  Wounded and afraid, her eyes searched his. After a brief moment, she turned and walked away, apparently assuming he would follow. She led him to a row of shanties, behind the second block of ramshackle shops and houses—a pitiful line of tiny homes for those less fortunate than the rest in town. Joseph swallowed hard and entered the dirty hovel, right behind her. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness. Shortly, a movement by the fire caught his attention, and he saw an old Indian woman holding a small child, perhaps a year old. A half-breed.

  “You seek Soren Janssen,” said the woman.

  He turned back to her and sat down on the dirty blanket at his feet. “Yes.”

  “I was his companion for the last several years.”

  “I see.” He waited for her to go on. When she didn’t, he said, “And then?”

  “And then he left me here one night while I was asleep.” “You do not sound surprised.”

  “It was his intention from the start. As soon as we heard at the fort that his wife was there, seeking him, offering a reward.”

  “I see,” he said again. The wounds were deep in the tiny shack. The child moved but made no sound. What terrible thing had transpired that this child uttered no sound? He thought of his own rowdy, noisy boys back at home.

  “He knew she had come into some money, which was the star he always sought.”

  “You know English well,” Joseph said, momentarily distracted.

  “I attended a school in Juneau for some years. My father knew the coming of white men would make a difference to our lands. My brothers and I all attended a Catholic boarding school there. My father … my father thought it would help. Instead….”

  Joseph did not push her, feeling as if he were prying. “Tell me your name.”

  “Natasha Dances by Moonlight.”

  Joseph paused again, thinking on the combination of an obvious Russian name—probably bestowed upon her by some Orthodox nun—and the Indian sounding name given to her by her father. “Natasha.…” The name seemed so incongruent and wrong for her! “When did you arrive in Saint Michael?”

  “Just as soon as Soren could get us down the river. He told me that he wasn’t leaving, but I knew. I knew from his eyes.”

  “Your son… Is Soren the father?”

  “Yes.”

  He paused, measuring his words. “Natasha, I am prepared to pay you a large sum for the following information. I know this might be painful, and I do not wish you harm. But my employer is looking out for Kaatje Janssen, Soren’s wife. He fears that Soren is not all he claims to be.”

  She snorted a laugh in response, the first semblance of humor he had seen in the woman. Then the smile left her face. “I have nothing. Anything you give me will be used to help my son.”

  “I will give you enough money to purchase lumber and build a decent house. Enough money to begin your own laundry business and give your … employer some competition. You have already given me lots of information, but I need more. You said Soren never mentioned his wife until she came looking for him?”

  “Yes. I had seen her picture, but he left it behind at the cabin. I thought it meant she was dead to his heart, too.”

  He swallowed hard at her visible pain. “And it was the promise of a financial reward that caught his attention?”

  “Yes. He said that if she had enough money to pay for guides and a reward, she had come into some money.”

  “So he emerged again because he thought she was rich?”

  “He told me that he would get his share and come back for me. I do not believe I will ever see him again.”

  “Because you refuse to?”

  “Because he will never come back. Soren is out to care for himself. He wants to do more, care for my son.” She paused and glanced at the child. “But eventually it always comes back to Soren.”

  “One last thing.” He pressed his lips together, hating to cause her any more pain. “He told his wife that he saved you. That you were falsely accused by your tribe of … lying with a man out of wedlock.

  That you were being beaten for it. That he took you away to save you. Is that true?”

  Her eyes did not leave his. “I was with another man. It is true. But
the man was Soren Janssen. And my father was so angry he threatened to take me home and beat me. But it was Soren Janssen that tore me from my tribe, from my…honor.” It was only at the last word that her gaze dropped. “Soren was betrothed to my sister, but he wanted me. I was a fool and went to him. I was weak. He never asked for my hand.”

  Joseph rose. “You will have three hundred dollars waiting for you at the hotel desk tomorrow.” She gasped.

  “It is good information that you gave me, Natasha. I want you to use the money to get back at Soren Janssen. To do what he could never do. Take care of yourself and your son. You will do so?”

  “Yes. I will. I will do as you say. Build a home and another laundry. There is more than enough work, and it will be much better than working for.… I deeply appreciate it, Mr. Campbell.”

  “It is the least I could do.” He placed his hat on his head and tipped it toward her, then turned to go, relieved to smell fresh Arctic air. He was so angered by what he had seen, so furious at the devastation Soren had left behind, that he decided to put in a hundred and fifty of his own money toward relieving Natasha’s situation.

  Kaatje poured herself a cup of coffee and took another out to James, sitting in the cold, on the porch of the Ketchikan Roadhouse. He spent much of his day away from the house, telling her he was looking for new trails to take come spring in search of beaver or elk. The snow was deep, so he could not have gone far from the house. Kaatje knew it was her he needed to escape.

  She opened the door, and her eyes grew wider at the cold. James glanced up at her, and then away, as if forcing himself to do so. He was a good man, a strong man. An honorable man. “Here,” she said. “For you.”

  “Thank you.”

  Kaatje sat down beside him on the step. “I am sorry I made you come with me, James.”

  “You did not force me.”

  “I did. In a way. I said I couldn’t come without you. But you didn’t want to come. Still you came.”

  “You’re wrong,” he said, the steam of his coffee rising up to his face. He did not look at her. “I wanted to come. That’s why I knew I shouldn’t. Karl tried to tell me.”

  “Karl? What would he know about—?” her words halted suddenly, knowingly. “Ah, Karl. Yes.”

  James shot her a curious look but did not comment.

  “You’ve spent five days outside. Aren’t you tired of being cold?”

  “It is fine. The cold gives a man the chance to think.”

  They sat in companionable silence for a minute. “James, you’ve seen me safely here. As I asked. Now I want you to go back. You’re miserable, and I don’t want to live with that responsibility for the next few days. Take this afternoon’s ferry and head home.”

  He looked down at his coffee, then took a sip. Kaatje studied his profile—a slightly large nose that was compensated for by a strong chin, seasoned skin the color of nutmeg from the sun, even in winter. Rough whiskers the same golden color as his hair. Before she could stop herself, she reached out and ran her fingers down his jaw line.

  He caught her hand, turning toward her. “Don’t.” He seemed desperate.

  “I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “That was stupid. I just want. I just wish.”

  He stood abruptly. “I’m getting my bag, Kaatje, and taking that ferry today. I can handle being near you, watching out for you, but not this near.”

  “James, we can’t continue like this.”

  “No, we can’t.”

  “Why haven’t you gone away? Given up on me? Why do you keep taking this punishment?”

  “Why?” he blew out a breath of frustration and gave her an incredulous look. “Why?” He ran a hand through his hair and then put his hat on, watching her all the while. He straightened the brim. “Because I’m in love with you, Kaatje Janssen. In love with you. I’ve been in love with you since that day you got mad at us for killing the baby bear. I love your strength and your resolve and your dedication. I love everything about you. And until I hear that you love your husband and are giving him a chance, that you want me to go away and never come back, I’m going to stay close enough to hear you say you love me back.”

  He left her then. Never touching her. But it felt as if he had. Every inch of her was warmed by his words. She had wanted to hear them, yet dreaded hearing them. But it was true. She was in love with James Walker, and try as she might, she could not find the love she once had for Soren anywhere in her heart.

  But she was trapped. Trapped in a marriage to a man who had betrayed her. She did not believe in divorce. Yet she could not allow herself or her girls to be hurt again. So there she sat, in limbo. “Why, Lord? Why?” She felt crushed by the agony of it all. “Finally, here is a man who could love me. Who wants to love me. Who wants to return my love. But Soren holds me still. Please, Father. Please. Show me your way. Show me the path. And give me the strength to take it.”

  twenty-two

  March 1889

  And when Charlie came in to tell us that ten more men”—Karl paused to laugh, barely able to breathe so great was his amusement—“had been seated, the look on your face…” He could not even finish his sentence.

  Elsa giggled along with him, half miffed and half bemused by his enjoyment of recalling their mismanagement of the roadhouse when Kaatje was away. “And you were no picture of perfection yourself, Captain Martensen.” She gazed fiercely over their table aboard a small, elegant steamer. When the weather had turned unseasonably warm for March, Karl had convinced her to come with him to Glacier Bay on a scouting trip. She had assumed there would be others along and was overjoyed when she discovered that it was just the two of them and a crew.

  “No—a picture of perfection I was not. Every day I rise and am thankful to our Lord that I was born for the sea and not for the kitchen.”

  It was Elsa’s turn to laugh. “So are all those guests from the roadhouse!”

  Karl hooted along with her. Their turn at running the Juneau Storm Roadhouse had been more challenging than originally thought. One cook had up and quit, and the other had come down with influenza. Mrs. Hodge had had a terrible cold and was in bed. They tried valiantly for three days to keep it running, relying on the children and remaining staff to assist them. But the two of them were simply no good at keeping hungry men fed. “What were we thinking?” Elsa asked, wiping tears from her eyes. “We haven’t cooked in years.” She lifted a fork, filled with her last bite of a succulent crab and cheese soufflé. “And for good reason.”

  Karl pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his nose. Then he picked up a crystal goblet. “Shall we toast to never running a restaurant again?”

  “Never again,” she agreed gladly, listening for the delicate clink of their glasses. “I can’t remember being so relieved when you suggested we compensate Trent, Tora, and Kaatje for lost days at the restaurant and simply close it.”

  “It was a stroke of brilliance.” He paused and gazed at her tenderly. A quiet moment passed. “I am so happy you came with me, Elsa. This trip would’ve been interesting because of the locale but somewhat lonely.”

  She smiled back at him and then reached across the table for his hand. “You’ve done a great deal to ease my loneliness, Karl.”

  “I am glad you’ve allowed me to do so.”

  “Tomorrow we go to shore?”

  “Yes. I’ve arranged for a Hoona guide to take us in kayaks amongst the glaciers. It’s a bit dangerous with the warm weather, but we’ll take care. Are you game?”

  “Of course. I wish the children could see all of this!” Kristian and Eve were back home with Mrs. Hodge, who’d recovered from her cold and could manage the passel of them and help Kaatje with the restaurant with greater ease than Elsa or Karl.

  “Perhaps we could bring them up here someday.”

  His use of we did not go unnoticed, and Elsa’s heart skipped for a moment.

  “I have a present for you,” he said mysteriously.

  “You do? For what occasion?”<
br />
  “The maiden voyage of this ship and her first guest.” The small steamer was one that Lucas Laning had brought over in pieces across the Panamanian isthmus and built on the western shore.

  “I’ll accept gifts under any guise.”

  He rose and went to a corner cabinet, then returned with a large box wrapped in elegant white paper. Seeing him there, with the gift in hand, made her think of all the boxes she had received in the past couple years. “Karl,” she said, as she accepted the box and set it on her lap, “have you ever sent me presents before?”

  “Presents? Of what sort?”

  She studied him, and he looked truly confused. Elsa could feel the heat rise on her neck. How foolish to ask in such a straightforward manner! What would he think of her, accepting gifts from strangers? Though what she was supposed to do with them she did not know…

  “Elsa?”

  “Oh! Well, the last gift was a stereoscope with pictures from around the world.”

  “A stereoscope? And you do not know from whom it came?”

  “No, I—”

  “There was no note?”

  “No. I am sorry I broached the subject. Please, forget I said anything.” She hurriedly turned to the package on her lap. Would he think she had another suitor? Did she? It was all very puzzling. “What could you have purchased me?” she asked, but did not wait for him to comment. She ripped at the paper and opened the large box while he rose to stand by her side. Inside was a beautifully made sealskin coat, with a hood lined with lush fur, and matching trousers. “Karl!” she said in awe.

  “When in Rome… We cannot be touring the glaciers in the latest fashions from Paris.”

  She rose and, clutching the jacket to her breast, stood on her tiptoes to kiss him. “Thank you, Karl. It was most thoughtful.”

  “It was not all generosity, I confess.”

  “Oh?”

  He grinned again. “I would pay good money to see you in that outfit.”

  She swatted him. “Next time we meet, I’ll be wearing it. No charge.” She rose and gave him a quick buss on the cheek. “Until tomorrow?”